


language or the kiss

by Awriterwrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Fluff and Smut, Hippie Harry, M/M, Poetry, Rimming, Smut, Summer Camp AU, Top Louis, VERY VERY minor marijuana use, minor alcohol use, pretentious louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve heard about you, Louis.”</p><p>Louis just looked back at him, hands on his small hips, foot tapping out an angry beat on the hardwood floor, a verse just under his tongue, waiting to spill out.  “Yeah?  What have you heard?”  </p><p>Harry slowly stood up, his long lean body feline as he came forward, slowly closing the two feet between them.  “Yeah…I’ve heard about you.”  Harry whispered, so close Louis could smell his cologne, something spicy and fruity, soft and wild.  “You’re the one.”</p><p>Louis looked up at him; unfortunately he had to look up.  The fucker had about three to four inches on him.  “The one what?”  His eyes flickered from Harry’s intent stare to his wet obscene lips.  Louis wasn’t proud.  But his dick may have twitched a little.  Just a little.  </p><p>“You’re the one to beat.”</p><p>OR the one where Louis' the best at everything until Harry comes along and makes him think twice.  About everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	language or the kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothing_but](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_but/gifts).



> Hi! This was so much fun to write! I made some teeny changes to the prompt, because I'm American and lazy when it comes to research so...Instead of Interlochen I changed the summer camp to a made up little world in Northern Michigan, USA. I really hope I did the prompt justice nothing_but. Hope you like it!
> 
> I had lots of help with this story. Thank you to the amazing @gettingaphdinlarry for all of your fastidious editing and to the lovely @myownsparknow for your encouragement and feedback.
> 
> Based off this prompt:  
> Interlochen Summer Camp AU. Louis and Harry are senior attendees (17-18) of the creative writing camp at Interlochen. Louis has been going there every year since he had first been a junior attendee. Harry is the brilliant newcomer who threatens to take over the golden-boy-position Louis has always been used to being privileged with. Apart from that, Harry’s into prose, while Louis is of the firm opinion that the only real art of writing is poetry. Louis desperately wants to be able to hate the boy with the bright smile and the curls, although it is clear that it’s hot-burning, short-lived summer romance waiting to happen. Their two-week intensive program is filled with sneaking into each other’s beds, one or the other poem or short story written about the other, teasing each other about their preferred writing habits and forms, stolen secret kisses while actually being terribly obvious.

The whole world was green.

Forehead pushed against the cold glass of the car window, Louis could see a thick curtain of evergreen pressing in around them from all sides. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath plume against the clear surface, the air conditioning from the car a sharp contrast to the thick, nearly palpable heat outside. The moisture spread like a cancer between Louis and the outside world. 

Louis dragged his finger through the misty surface, and was sure there was a bit of poetry in it. His fingers started thrumming on his thigh without him even realizing it, the rhythm of the verse already spiraling from his brain to the end of each digit. 

“Nervous?” his mom asked, mistaking his fidgeting for something other than creative energy.

Louis turned to look at her, her brow furrowed in worry. Some things never change. “Nah. I’m an old hat at this. You should know that by now.”

And it was true. He wasn’t nervous. Excited more than anything else. He couldn’t wait to get settled in, see all of his friends whom he’d spent two weeks with every summer for, shit, what was it now? The past 10 years? Louis shook his head slightly. Ten years of his life he’d been coming to Camp Darwin, and it was all coming to a close this year. He felt a cloud of bittersweet melancholy sweep over his skin as he thought about how he’d be leaving a part,  _ this _ part, of his childhood behind in exactly 14 days. 

“Never have to worry about you, do I Lou?” 

Louis’ mom was right. She didn’t have to worry about him. Of all her children, Louis was the responsible one. The studious one. The one who never got in trouble. He didn’t have time, really, having been on the fast track to poet laureate from the moment he could read Dr. Seuss on his own. Maybe he had a penchant for the dramatic, but he was still steadfast in pursuing his dreams. Always.

A recipient of the Carnelian Scholarship for Young Poets, Louis had a full ride to Northwestern University; the youngest to ever receive the honor, he might add (if asked), only 16 when he started college. At 18, he was nearly a year ahead of his peers and poised to graduate with his double major in Poetry and Pre-Raphaelite Romantic Literature within the year. 

Ultimately, Louis wanted to teach at a prestigious University. But not until he was at least 25. He had two post-graduate degrees to obtain and a publishing contract to secure first. All in good time, he thought, smiling to himself as his mother turned down the familiar drive of the Upper Peninsula Michigan summer camp. His fingers lost the thread of the poetry whirring in his brain, but that was ok. There would be time for that later.

The gravel crunched under the tires of the family minivan as Louis reveled in how little had changed at the creative writing camp. The large wooden sign spanned the road and read “Camp Darwin” in large scroll letters, with the words “Where Young Writers Evolve.” Cheesy, but beloved. Louis smiled broadly, rolling the window down so he could smell the fresh country air, laced with pine and the smudgy scent of dirt and something lighter, more floral. Lining the dusty road, Louis could see Lily of the Valley carpeting the forest floor. The sweet smell permeated the car, filling his senses and eliciting fond memories from summers past. 

Louis’ mom eased the van into one of the makeshift parking spots that served as the camp’s reception area. The dining hall sat off to the left and the studio spaces were scattered like autumn leaves over the lawn to the right. Louis could see dappled sunlight falling over the pine needle covered path that led from the studios to the cabins beyond. He really hoped he’d be bunking with Niall again this year. There were only three of them left, the last year, all the others having dispersed to one college or another, too busy or too old to come this year. Louis really hoped he didn’t get stuck with Liam. God. 

Two years ago he bunked with Liam and they pretty much almost killed each other. They liked each other fine,  _ loved _ each other actually, as long as they weren’t forced to live together. They were complete opposites in every regard. Where Louis was messy, Liam was neat. Where Louis was loud, Liam was quiet. Louis lived, breathed, and practically  _ ate _ poetry. And Liam, Liam the prick (in Louis’ mind), was here to refine his craft of  _ biography _ writing. 

Louis scoffed as he dropped from the van. Of course Liam found passion in learning to become a biographer. Liam. Louis smiled fondly, despite Liam’s drippy interests, he was still excited to see him and give him shit for his boring-ass love of all things biopic. Still, he still hoped he was bunking with Niall. Or better yet, alone. Since there were only three of them, as senior campers, one of them might actually get a cabin all to themselves. 

Moving quickly, Louis started thinking of all the things he could do with some alone time. At home he was used to having people in and out of his room all hours of the day and night. Here he might actually be able to rub one out without fear of someone walking in on him. That was almost …  _ unreal _ . He was starting to feel really thankful he checked out that book of erotic 19 th century poetry from the library. A little chill ran up his spine, despite the humid air that clung to his skin.

“Mom,” Louis said, trying not to sound too impatient. “You don’t have to walk me up. I’m all good here.” 

His mother tried to hide her disappointment, undoubtedly thinking about the first summer she brought Louis and how he clung to her waist and cried himself to sleep every night. Louis softened a bit, not a complete asshole, as he sidled up to his mother, dropping his duffel on the ground at his feet. 

“Mommy, you know I love you!” His voice was scratchy and sing-songy as he wrapped himself around his mother obnoxiously. 

“Louis! Oh!” Louis’ mother regained her balance and hugged her eldest back, laughing into his hat. “You clumsy boy! You’re too big for such shenanigans!” Louis wrapped his leg around his mother’s midsection, hopping about as if he was going to jump into her arms.

Louis smiled and inhaled his mom’s familiar scent. She smelled like home; cinnamon and bleach. And a little bit like the Dolce he bought her last Christmas. “I’ll be fine. The question is: will you?” He pulled back so he could look into his mother’s watery blue eyes. 

She blinked back tears and forced a smile. “I’ll be fine, Lou. I’ll just miss you that’s all.”

“Two weeks mom. Two weeks.” Louis hugged his mom for real, giving her a big wet kiss on the cheek. Then he reached out and slapped her on the butt and shouted, “Now get outta here woman!”

His mom nodded her head once while she giggled at her son’s boldness. She wiped her eyes and walked back to the front of the van. Louis moved aside so she could turn around. Shouldering his bag he gave her a bright smile and an exaggerated wave. As he watched her tail lights get farther and farther away, he found himself thinking that maybe he should have gone away to school, would have been good to cut the cord. But alas, his mom needed him. And it was good to not have to worry about living expenses while at school. This way he could focus on his schoolwork. And his writing.

Writing. Ah. Yes. The reason he was here. Louis pivoted on his foot, tattered sneaker spitting rocks behind him, and joined the throngs of students walking toward the registration tables. He could pick out the first years right off the bat. Aforementioned wailing and clinging to parents aside, they looked green, new and excited but unbearably nervous at the same time. The mid years and juniors were clustering in their groups, playwrights (fucking hippies, they were), songwriters, non-fiction writers (Liam wasn’t here yet, Louis could see), aspiring novelists and, of course, the poets. The poets were a small group. Louis was the only senior this year with a handful of younger grade participants making up the rest of the group. They were the true artists here, in Louis’ humble opinion.

“Louis Tomlinson. As I live and breathe.” The breathy voice rang out over the crowd as Louis approached the table, his feet carrying him forward and through the crowd. It was hot in northern Michigan this time of year, but he could feel the lake breeze swirling through the trees, making the close air more bearable. 

“Miss Cunningham!” Louis exclaimed, dropping his bag so he could hug the elderly woman who had leaped up from her seat with an energy usually reserved for women half her age.

Louis’ smiled into her shoulder, her gauzy summer shift powdery under his cheek. “How could you have gotten  _ more _ handsome?” The woman’s voice was a gentle coo in Louis’ ear, as she wrinkled but strong hands over his back. 

Louis laughed with deep fondness for the camp’s founder. “I think maybe you need to get your eyes checked, Clara,” he told the octogenarian in front of him.

Clara Cunningham gently pushed her rhinestone glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Nothing wrong with my eyes, young man,” she chided.

“Hmph.” Louis smirked.

“Or my ears. So don’t sass me.” 

Louis laughed again, louder this time. Clara Cunningham was a formidable force in the writing world. Louis had considered himself somewhat of a groupie of hers long before he even thought it possible to attend her camp, let alone study and learn from her. Yet, here he was. Ten years at Camp Darwin and being courted by Clara to help run the programs next summer. 

“So what’s the scoop this year, Clara? What do I need to know?” Louis leaned in, a conspiratorial tone to his voice.

Clara leaned in too, her coral lips sparkly in the late afternoon light. “Well…” she mock whispered, “You’re still my favorite, Louis.” 

Louis giggled and slapped her lightly on the arm, tickled with how much he loved her. “Although, there is a new student to the poetry program this year,” Clara said, all teasing gone.

Louis arched his eyebrow. A new student? Well, this was certainly a surprise. Probably a first or mid-year, he thought. A sniveling nerdy type that Louis will have to  _ school _ on the true art of poetry. “Yeah?” he said, noncommittally, already looking past Clara to see if he could find his envelope on the table alongside her.

“Yes. And I’d like you to show him the ropes, Lou. If you don’t mind.”

Louis looked up at Clara sharply, his body stretched to retrieve his registration packed. “Show him the  _ ropes _ ?” 

It’s not that Louis was afraid of a little extra work. That’s wasn’t it. No, he just didn’t want to be saddled with some little kid who asked a million questions and wanted to be validated by Louis, himself a far superior poet, who was hoping to use his time at Camp Darwin to put the finishing touches on what he hoped would be his first published work. 

Clara nodded and gripped Louis by the wrist, her mauve nails digging in just enough to make Louis pause and pay closer attention. “Louis. He’s  _ good _ . Reminds me of you when you first came to us…”

Ah shit. So a little kid for sure, then. Fuck. Louis could feel his freedom, his creative genius, slipping away. “Really,” he said, his voice flat and unimpressed.

“Really.” Clara nodded enthusiastically; her vibrant almost-orange curls bobbed around her heart shaped face like small children bouncing on a Technicolor trampoline.

Louis gave Clara a curt nod, looking into her blue eyes and seeing that, yes, she really did believe that this kid was as good as Louis, or at least as good as Louis was when he was younger. It’s just that…well, Louis isn’t a little kid anymore. He’s a man, alright? A man with a mission and his mission this summer did not include letting some pretentious little twat mess with his writing. Also. Maybe Louis didn’t really like the idea of some kid, some “prodigy”coming along trying to best him. That just wasn’t…wasn’t a part of Louis’ plan this summer.

Clara gave him a pleading look, her lined face imploring and so, so sweet. 

Fuck.

“Yeah. Alright. I’ll help him out.”

“Oh good!” Clara didn’t miss a beat, smile slipping from her face, back to business again. “That’s good. He’s rooming with you so you’ll have lots of time to work together.”

“R…rooming together?” Louis squawked.

“Right. Rooming together. He’s a senior too.”

Louis scratched at his head beneath his worn Cubs baseball hat. “He’s a senior?”

Clara nodded and moved back behind the table. “Yup. And he’s already checked in. He’s in your cabin.”

****

Louis held the crumpled paper in his sweaty fist as he trudged up the path. The lightness and feeling of inescapable freedom that he had felt short moments ago was gone. His mind was a fast-moving mess of words like “prodigy,” “senior” and “show him the ropes.” Even the inspiration of curling mist on a condensed plate of glass evaded him. All that was left was brooding melancholy over the prospect of someone being better than him, more  _ poetic _ than him. And that fucking got under his skin.

By the time Louis got to his cabin he was fuming. His breath was coming quick and the itch to see just  _ who _ he was dealing with…who his nemesis—as he’d come to term the “prodigy” as—was. Louis let the door slam against the outside of the cabin as he pulled it open roughly. He peered inside the cabin and barged his way in. What he saw was… _ disturbing _ ? Certainly not what he expected.

The normally bare darkly paneled walls of the rustic woodland cabins were covered in richly colored fabrics in varying shades of crimson, cobalt blue and fiery orange. The overhead fluorescent light had been turned off, the lighting coming instead from two bronze-colored lamps casting iridescent warm yellow light around the small space. One of the twin beds was draped in gauzy lilac cotton sheets and a soft yellow throw while the other was bare. Earthy sandalwood incense burned on the top of the small bookshelf, already lined with a few notebooks and three or four classic poetry volumes. There was soft music playing in the background (Coldplay, Louis thought distantly) and the entire space looked like it came out of some special interior design issue of High Times magazine. Louis was torn between being enthralled and wanting to roll a joint.

It was peaceful.

And it was a monstrosity. How dare he? How dare…

“Oh! You must be my roomie.”

A rich, slow, melodic voice curled around the edges of Louis’ hearing, making the hair at the back of his neck stand up and the ghost of a shiver cast its way up his spine. Louis turned slowly and saw a tall boy emerging from the tiny bathroom, wiping his hands (his very large hands) on a hand towel. The boy’s voice was captivating, like the edges of worn paper, and his face was wide and open…pleasant. Louis stared into spring green eyes and forgot to breathe for a moment.

Because this boy, the boy staring at him right now, was like poetry in motion. He was breathtakingly beautiful, lean and long, wiry yet almost lithe in the way he held himself. His eyes were round and vibrant but his lips, his lips were the stuff of every single one of Louis’ wet dream fantasies rolled into one living, breathing, walking reality. Plush and cotton candy pink, glistening with…was that gloss? And full, they looked like something Louis’ wanted to bite and lick and taste over and over again. The boy let his hands drop uselessly at his sides, clutching the towel with his right hand, left fingers wiggling slightly at his thigh. 

“Um…” The boy shifted side to side nervously, tucking a chestnut curl of his shoulder length hair behind his ear. “So…hi?” 

Louis cleared his throat and remembered who he was and what he was doing here. Right.  _ Nemesis _ .

“What the fuck did you do to our cabin?” he snarled, pushing past the boy to look into the bathroom. At least he didn’t artsy fartsy up that room…yet.

“Oh. I…” The boy walked back to the center of the room with his arms held wide, a grin threatening to take over his whole face, fuck, the whole  _ universe _ .

“I hate it.” Louis glowered and slammed the bathroom door, locking it behind him. He slumped down on the toilet and tried to collect his thoughts, catch his breath. The boy on the other side of the door was nothing like what he expected. He was…cute.  _ Cute _ . 

Well, shit. 

Cute was not really what Louis bargained for either. Drawing in a deep breath, Louis took out his toiletry bag and shoved it under the sink. The bathroom was tiny and done in industrial white, nothing special and certainly not beyond needing a little DIY attention from the cute-prodigy-nemesis in the room outside. But still…Louis felt displaced. Somehow thrown off guard by his competition. 

Exiting the bathroom with his bag, Louis stalked to the unmade bed. “Where are the sheets and blankets for this one?” he said accusingly.

The boy sat on his own bed, hands in his lap, body stiff. “Um…I put them in the closet. I uh…thought you’d bring your own?”

“No one brings their own,” Louis bit out.

“I um…have an extra set? If you want…” the boy offered.

“No. I don’t want.” Louis couldn’t help it, he sounded petty and cruel and so much unlike his usual self but the first half hour of summer camp was not turning out as he pictured it. It was all because of the hot—ok, no longer just  _ cute _ but now  _ hot _ —boy sitting across from him. Louis grabbed the scratchy white sheets and the drab woolen blanket from the shelf in the closet and tossed them on his bed, hazarding a look at the taller boy across the room. 

“Well,” Louis hissed, “guess you should tell me your name then.” He didn’t sound very friendly. He didn’t care.

The boy curled his fingers around his ear again, gently sliding an errant curl behind it, the same one that didn’t seem to want to stay put. He sucked his full bottom lip into his mouth as he considered Louis’ statement. “Right. I’m…uh…Harry. Harry Styles. And I…”

Louis cut him off. “Well, Harry Styles, let’s get one thing straight, right? I’m Louis Tomlinson and I’m not going to babysit you for the next two weeks, alright? I’m not holding your hand while you try to figure out how to manage here and I’m not giving you any special treatment, no matter what Clara says.”

“Clara?” Harry asked shyly.

“Fucking Clara Cunningham. Who the fuck even  _ are _ you?” Louis practically shouted. This kid calls himself a prodigy? Well, technically Clara called him a prodigy. Not really, but she  _ inferred _ it. Semantics. Whatever. “You are just going to have to make it on your own, right? I have things to do this summer. Things to accomplish. Nothing you’d understand, but…I don’t have time for…for…someone like you!” 

Louis finished, his voice having risen dramatically and his face flushing pink with each syllable. He didn’t quite know why the boy was getting to him, but he was. And that was infuriating to Louis. Louis, who usually was quite proud of the fact that he had an even temper and could handle stress, manage it even, with the help of his writing. And now…this boy, fucking Harry Styles, was threatening to usurp his position as…well, the  _ best _ at Camp Darwin?

The boy, Harry, was just staring at him dumbly. Stupid pretty face like a fucking canvas, pale and smooth, the late afternoon sunlight swirling with the incandescent light from the lamp casting shadows over the left side of his face. He was beautiful, Louis couldn’t help but think, like a painting or something. He didn’t speak, just looked at Louis with bright green eyes, reminding Louis of a battered puppy, kicked into submission but still brimming with unconditional love.

He finally spoke, quietly, voice sure and steady, the ghost of a smile still haunting his lips. “I’ve heard about you, Louis.” 

Louis just looked back at him, hands on his small hips, foot tapping out an angry beat on the hardwood floor, a verse just under his tongue, waiting to spill out. “Yeah? What have you heard?” 

A challenge. 

Harry slowly stood up, his long lean body feline as he came forward, slowly closing the two feet between them. “Yeah…I’ve heard about you,” Harry whispered, so close Louis could smell his cologne, something spicy and fruity, soft and wild. “You’re the one.”

Louis looked up at him; unfortunately he had to look up. The fucker had about three to four inches on him. “The one  _ what _ ?” His eyes flickered from Harry’s intent stare to his wet obscene lips. Louis wasn’t proud. But his dick may have twitched a little. Just a little. 

“You’re the one to beat.”

Harry’s eyes bore into Louis’. Their toes touched. Harry’s Birkenstock sandals to Louis’ Vans with the holes where his pinkie toes were poking out. Louis felt the fine misting of Harry’s warm breath on his upper lip and could make out the blondish whiskers dusting Harry’s chin. His mind raced, searching for a clever retort, but he came up empty; his senses full of Harry. Harry’s scent and Harry’s height, practically looming over him, and the heat from his skin. 

And then…then it was gone.

Harry was gone. The screen door bouncing against the frame, a cool lake breeze winding its way through the forest. Louis closed his mouth. Closed his mouth and gulped. Well then, he thought, his pulse racing, heart in his throat, this should be an interesting two weeks.

****

The dining hall smelled exactly the way it had for the past 10 years. Louis took a deep breath, the scent of greasy hamburgers, sticky oatmeal and canned peaches filling his nostrils. The large open space was loud, about 100 campers all talking over each other, clamoring for equal time to discuss the coming weeks and what their projects were, what they hoped to accomplish. Louis scanned the room, looking for the familiar faces of his friends, Niall and Liam.

He couldn’t seem to find them, until he did. And of course. Of fucking course. They were sitting with Harry Styles at the lone table at the rear of the building, usually reserved for seniors by an unspoken creed. Harry was talking, gesticulating with his hands wildly, while Niall and Liam seemed completely enamored by him. Fucking losers. Louis groaned and adjusted his Cubs hat. He slowly walked toward the buffet line. He grabbed a piece of meat (pork chop? He couldn’t be sure—the camp was known for its ability to produce grade A writers, not gourmet meals), some green beans and a large scoop of what he thought was au gratin potatoes—but he couldn’t be sure. A cool glass of tea in his hand, he began to weave through the tables to sit with his friends. And nemesis.

“Tommo! Wey-hey!” Niall exclaimed, bouncing out of his seat to hug Louis in a great big bear clutch. Louis barely had time to put down his food and glass, a few green beans bobbling to the floor. 

“Niall! Good to see you!” Louis cheered, clapping the loud blonde boy on the back. He glanced over at Liam and noticed how Liam was sitting next to Harry, all moony eyed and hanging on the boy’s every word. Christ.

“Gonna say hello then, Liam?” Louis hated how his voice sounded, insecure and small. “Or are you gonna sit there like an idiot and wait to have Styles’ babies?” There that was better. Marginally, anyway.

Liam looked up and gave Louis a sincere smile. His brown eyes twinkled when he pulled back from hugging his old friend. “You’re so lucky Lou!”

Louis looked at Liam quizzically, settling into his seat across from Harry, avoiding all eye contact. “You get to room with Harry here!” Liam explained, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “He’s a fucking genius, Lou!”

Louis grimaced and shoveled in a mouth full of potatoes. Bland. Flavorless. Reaching for the salt he ground out, “Genius. Right.”

He couldn’t help but steal a glance at Harry right then. Harry was looking effortlessly pretty, with his long hair finally tied up and out of his face, a clip like Louis had seen his sister’s wear clamped around the unruly curls that amassed into a loose bun at his crown. His cheeks were flushed a light shade of pale pink and his lips were almost rose colored in the dim light of the mess hall. Fuck. Louis was pretty sure he was screwed. If this kid was half as good a poet as he looked unfairly gorgeous, Louis was screwed.

“So Hazza here was just telling us a bit about his poetry club back home,” Niall said, slurping the dregs of his vanilla ice cream out of the bowl.

Louis choked a little on the dry mystery meat in his mouth. “H…Hazza?”

Niall grinned, his lips lined in sticky vanilla cream. “Sure. Hazza. Harry. The Hazmeister. Right, Huzzabaloo?”

Harry just smiled, serenely, the fucker, and flashed Niall a thumbs up. He didn’t stop looking at Louis while he did so.

Louis ignored him. 

“So what have you losers been up to all year?” Louis asked, knowing most of it because the three of them Skyped at least twice a month, but still eager to get the focus off of Harry. Or Hazza. Or whatever his name was.

Liam started first, going on and on about some book signing he went to by some ghostwriter who had supposedly written more biographies of US presidents than any other author living or dead. Boring. Snooze fest. Louis rolled his eyes but listened anyway.

Niall filled them in on how he and his girlfriend finally had sex. Another snooze fest, Louis thought, as if Niall boning some girl could ever be interesting. But…it was important to Niall so he listened. 

He was just about to tell the boys about how one of his poems had been chosen for the commencement booklet this coming year when Harry blurted out, “I won the Perroti Promising Young Poetry Award this past year!”

All three sets of eyes landed on him, his face even more flushed than before, hands wringing nervously in front of him. And…Louis realized. He was scared. Nervous. This was…useful.

“Yeah?” Louis said, shrewdly.

“That’s awesome!” Niall cheered, excitedly congratulating his new friend. Liam echoed the sentiment.

“Yeah…I…it was a total surprise.” Harry actually had the gall to look sheepish. Louis almost laughed out loud. “Had a proper ceremony for it and everything.” Louis felt like his eyes might get stuck in the back of his head, he rolled them so vigorously.

“Proper ceremony and everything, huh?” Louis’ voice was smooth and clear, like butter melting on toast. 

Harry nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak. Louis wasn’t having any of it. He saw the predatory look in Harry’s eyes back at the cabin, knew better than to buy any of this nervous Nellie bullshit. “That how you got in then, yeah? To Camp Darwin? Bought your way…I mean.” A lick of the lips and sly grin. “I mean…that’s how you paid for part of camp?”

Harry flushed even more, the color blooming on his cheeks nearly scarlet now. “No…Um. Actually, I donated the money? Gave it away to the anti-cruelty society in my town. Wanted to make sure it went toward um…the costs for spaying and neutering?” 

Liam beamed. Niall cooed.

Louis wanted to throttle both of them. But still…puppies? Kittens? Dude was smart. Getting everyone on his good side. Getting everyone to side with  _ him _ instead of Louis. 

For the rest of the meal Louis decided to keep quiet. He was on reconnaissance; decided to collect the necessary information from his nemesis to ensure a swift battle. It was going to be fun to put  _ Hazza _ in his place tomorrow during their first workshop.

****

If there’s one thing Louis hated it was being late. And fuck all…he was late on his first day of senior poetry workshop. 

He blamed Harry.

Last night was a disaster. Between trying to ignore Harry at the bonfire, and then trying to sleep with the sound of his fucking  _ breathing _ all night, and then hiding under the mildewed blanket with his morning wood (no thanks to Harry and those fucking lips of his) … Louis stayed in bed until Harry left, making Louis late. Late and cranky and still half way hard because he didn’t have time to jack off in the shower. He barely had time to shower, Harry took so fucking long to get out of the cabin.

So. Here he was, racing up the path to the poetry studio, sweating, track shorts practically falling off because apparently he’d forgotten to tie them and t-shirt bunched up in his hand. He’d heard the chimes about 10 minutes ago indicating morning sessions were beginning but he had to brush his teeth, alright? Bad enough he couldn’t wank, he couldn’t compromise fresh breath too. 

“Sorry I’m…” Louis burst into the studio, bright sunlight streaming in behind him, joining hazy beams that fell to the floor through the open windows lining the walls. He was pulling his Led Zeppelin t-shirt over his head when Clara spoke.

“Nice of you to join us,” she admonished, clearly peeved by his entrance. 

Louis wasn’t really paying all that much attention to the camp’s matriarch, though. He was, instead, looking at Harry. Harry, who was bent in half, ass up in the air, fingers clasping each of his ankles tightly, hair flowing long and soft between his legs…and he was…Harry was doing yoga? In his,  _ Louis’ _ , poetry studio. What the actual fuck?

“Did anyone tell the tree hugger this is a poetry studio? Not a… _ yoga _ studio?” Louis was pretty sure if there was an academy award for Most Scathing Performance he would have won right then. 

Clara turned her back and went to her nook, shaking her head absently. She approached a small hanging chair that was suspended from the ceiling. She sat down with a happy sigh and pulled out her notepad as if no one had even spoken. Senior workshop was sort of an open space for the oldest campers. It was meant for independent writing and sharing, if the writer wanted to do so.

Harry unfolded himself, his limbs moving gracefully, as he stood to his full height. Louis swallowed thickly. Harry was wearing yoga pants. Yoga pants. Tight, practically indecent lycra that clung to his long thick legs, leaving nothing—absolutely  _ nothing _ —to the imagination. There was a prominent bulge between his legs which indicated at least to Louis, that he was definitely above average in that department. His t-shirt, threadbare and sleeveless, had ridden up and was currently exposing a thin strip of tan skin that had a fine dusting of light brown hair which disappeared into the offensive pants. His biceps were well defined and littered with black ink.

“Good morning Louis!” Harry chirped, wiping his brow and shaking his hair back like some kind of yoga porn star.

Louis blinked once, twice and on the third blink he shook himself out of his stupor. He grumbled something that might have sounded like good morning and went directly to the coffee and tea cart. He grumpily poured himself a cup of hot water over a bag of English breakfast and went to the window seat. Clara had already supplied him with his favorite type of linen paper and fine point black ink pen. He put his tea down and brought his pen to the paper.

And stared at it. 

And stared at it some more.

After a few minutes he huffed out a loud breath and got up, pacing the floor in front of his seat. He was distracted and that was a problem. He knew what was distracting him. Knew it like the cadence of iambic pentameter that thrummed through his veins. Harry Styles. 

Louis glanced around the small brightly lit studio and saw Clara deeply immersed in her writing, her hand flying over her notebook, lips pursed in a frosty pink pucker. Harry was…he was laying on the floor, on his stomach, legs bent and feet overhead, reading. On a  _ tablet _ . 

Who even? Who writes poetry on a tablet? Louis could feel his eyebrows up in his hair. He suddenly wanted to lash out. Wanted Harry to pay for distracting him.

Fists clenched at his sides, Louis stalked over to Harry and prodded his hip with his toe. Louis pretended to not notice how Harry’s ass jiggled just the tiniest bit at the prodding. He also pretended not to be transfixed by Harry’s practically carved from marble ass barely hidden with the formfitting black pants. 

“What are you doing?” Louis knew he was scowling. He hated scowling; knew it would give him wrinkles. 

Harry looked up and rolled over, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his left leg over his right at the knee. Louis definitely didn’t look at his dick. His shirt was practically up around his neck. Louis could see tattoos. Lots and lots of tattoos. What 18 year old has that many tattoos?

“’M working on my poetry. What are you doing?” Harry asked, voice deep and slow. His eyes were sleepy and relaxed, lips parted. 

“You…you,” Louis stammered. “Poetry?”

Harry smiled up at him. “Yeah…just a little something I’ve been working on. Think I’m just about done.”

Clara appeared then, a small smudge of ink at her temple. “Oh! Let’s hear it then Harry.” She pulled up a chair from the desk nearby (clearly meant for Harry if he sat in chairs like normal people) and sat in it, crossing her legs at the ankle. “Louis? Sit down dear.”

Louis huffed and sat on the floor, cross-legged, arms folded across his chest. Clara smiled at him, seemingly unaware of just how  _ annoying _ Louis found Harry. 

Harry sat up and opened his legs wide. Louis coughed and averted his eyes. Because. Christ. Lycra and legs spread…not doing much for Louis’ annoyance level. Or the whole “hating Harry” thing he had going on. Harry gingerly placed the tablet on the floor in the V of his legs and rolled his neck, soft tendrils of hair curling around his neck and dripping over his clavicle like icing on a cake. 

“So…like…um…” Harry rolled that fat bottom lip between his teeth a few times. Louis wanted to smack him or kiss him. He was so annoying. “I wrote this a few months ago when I broke up with my…um…boyfriend.” His glance flicked nervously at Louis. 

Louis felt caught. Trapped in the bright vivacious green of those eyes. The light seemed to surround Harry. Louis really hoped he was complete shit at poetry. Because it wouldn’t be fair to be so pretty and talented.

Slow, almost painfully slow, and deep, Harry’s voice began. Louis felt arousal unfurl deep within him, just at the timbre of Harry’s voice.

_ I know in my heart you’re not a constant star _

_ I let you use me from the day we first met _

_ I’m not done, not done falling for you _

There was an echo of raw hurt in the edges of Harry’s words, and it lingered in his eyes. He drew a deep jagged breath and Louis thought, was pretty sure he saw, Harry’s chest heave a little, gathering strength for the next part.

_ My heart wide open _

_ I knew you turned it on for everyone you met _

_ But I’ll never regret falling for you _

 

Clara wiped at her eyes. Louis held his breath.

 

_ I took a chance _

_ God knows I tried _

_ I think I’m done, done falling for you _

It was so quiet in the sunny cabin, quiet and still. The only sound Louis could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the percussion tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker outside. Harry stared at his hands, idle, wrapped loosely around the base of the tablet in his lap. Louis felt transfixed. 

The words were haunting, beautiful, but it was more than that. It was the emotion that Harry delivered the verse with. It was sad and forlorn with brutal honesty. His voice was slow like blood dripping from a deep healing gash, the pain evident in every word, every syllable, spiraling down, down toward something inevitable. 

It was tragic. 

Beautiful.

And  _ fuck _ everything. Louis was screwed.

Clara finally spoke. “Harry. That was beautiful. So raw, emotional. Just beautiful darling.” She stood at the same time as Harry and folded him into her arms, rubbing spindly arms over his broad back. Harry buried his face into her neck. Louis knew he was smelling her Coco Chanel perfume and Coty powder, bathing in the comfort of it. 

“Louis?” Clara looked at him expectantly.

Louis swallowed around his thick tongue. He really was speechless. Which was rare for him, purveyor of words, usually so easy for him to spin lines of magical prose that rendered others speechless. This was not business as usual for Louis Tomlinson. “It was…um…” Harry turned his eyes on him again, blinking slowly, a crease forming between his large eyes. Louis felt trapped again. Not only in Harry’s penetrative gaze, but in the weight of the room and the unbearable truth in Harry’s words.

“Uh…yeah. Was good.” Louis’ voice came out rushed, distracted. He couldn’t form a coherent thought. 

The thing was, Louis was threatened by Harry Styles, knew it was possible that Harry was better than him, knew he probably wasn’t as good as he thought he was. But, that wasn’t the only thing prickling at his eyes, stealing his breath and making him dizzy ... It was the haunting way that Harry spoke. Like he knew pain. Knew it and came out on the other side of it.

It was a kind of experience that Louis couldn’t even begin to speak of, let alone write about.

“I have to…” Louis got up hurriedly, shuffling into his shoes at the front door. “I have to um…” He pointed outside, opening the maple door with a jerky movement.

He barely heard Clara call after him and the soft murmur of Harry’s deep voice as he fled the bright studio. His feet were flying, without his mind even understanding where they were headed. The crunch of pine needles and pea gravel churned under his feet and he blindly wiped away tears that had sprung from his eyes. Running, frantic, Louis worked to process feelings that were assaulting him in rapid succession. 

Ever since he could remember, Louis was always the best. The best at writing. The best at school. Even the best at sports. He just  _ knew _ how to do things. And, as far as he was concerned, something wasn’t worth doing if you couldn’t be the best. So…

The fact that this boy, this new boy, had invaded Louis’ camp, his domain, and might be better than him…well, it was unnerving. But worse than that, and probably the true reason behind Louis’ erratic flight through the forest, was that Harry seemed like he wrote from a place of  _ living _ . Louis couldn’t compete with that. 

Louis could feel hot tears lining his cheeks and felt his entire body burn like it was on fire. The ache of the onslaught of realization was burrowing itself deep in his chest as he ran, ran, ran. His body was flying through the woods, nearly a blur of movement and heat hurtling through the woods. He blindly ran, plummeting through the thickest part of the forest, branches clawing at his skin, the low bramble occasionally tangling his legs mercilessly. He was trying to outrun something that just couldn’t be evaded. Not forever. Because…

Louis didn’t live. At least not like that. Louis hurtled through his life like there was a finish line he had to beat everyone else to. He didn’t make time for relationships, at least not those that didn’t serve to help him reach his goals. Liam and Niall? They were camp friends; writer friends who understood everything that he was working toward, friends he kept at arm’s length only because it was easier, more efficient to do that then get entangled in the messy entrapments of true friendship. 

Louis had a few friends in high school, but he didn’t really keep in touch with them. He’d always been smarter, faster, looking forward. He’d had a few flings in college, meaningless sex, but nothing worth stopping for; worth slowing down for. He was always moving. Always thinking “what’s next”. And  _ that _ . That was the difference between him and Harry.

Slowing down to a walk, Louis panted out scorched breaths. His chest burned and his legs rang in pain. His entire body was shaking with something that felt like fear and rage all wrapped up into a vicious little package. He collapsed at the vista he’d unknowingly run toward. He’d discovered this place last year with Niall. A little farther away than the usual paths the Camp Darwin participants traveled, this path was unmarked and led to a cliff that looked over Lake Michigan. It was beautiful, serene and unfettered by humanity. There was a wild recklessness to it, overgrown wildflowers and untrimmed tree branches crisscrossing under the bright blue cloudless sky. 

Louis wrapped his arms around his knees and stared out at the wide, midnight blue lake. The water sparkled as if covered in countless shimmering diamonds. The sun beat off it relentlessly, making Louis squint at the brightness, the harshness of it. He wiped his face, tracking dirt and a smear of blood from a scratch on his forehead. 

If Louis really thought about, really examined his heart, he was actually jealous of Harry. Jealous that he came out the other side of some kind of inexplicable grief that warranted such tragic works and haunting verse. And in the end, it just made Louis sad for himself. He mourned the life he hadn’t had. He found himself thinking of all the opportunities—missed opportunities—he’d had to experience that closeness, that realness that came from letting someone in, and getting under someone else’s skin. In that way that only lovers could.

Because Louis hadn’t known love. Not the kind that Harry wrote about. 

Sure, he loved his sisters. His mother. Probably on some level he loved Liam and Niall, probably even loved Clara. But…he didn’t write moving poetry about that love. He wrote poetry about what he observed, from the outside. Always from the outside looking in. 

Louis took a deep breath and fell backward, his head cradled by the living forest floor. He could see impossibly blue sky through the verdant green of the latticework of trees above him. The sun danced over his face and the wind sounded in his ears, the waves falling to the shore far below a distant murmur. Without thinking, Louis shut his eyes. He shut his eyes to the pain of knowing that he was his own worst enemy and the realization that being the best wasn’t always the best thing for someone. Someone like him.

****  

“Where the fuck have you been all day?”

The fire crackled softly, sending crimson sparks heavenward. 

Louis glanced at Niall as he settled in next to him on the upended log that served as one of the many seats scattered around Camp Darwin’s evening bonfire. Niall was licking sticky marshmallow residue off of his fingers. Louis looked down at his feet, shuffling in the sandy dirt.

“Went for a walk.” 

“Well, Clara was lookin’ for ya.” Niall pierced another marshmallow with a curved stick. 

Louis nodded his head and made a non-committal sound. Of course Clara would be looking for him. She probably thought Louis was upset that Harry had finished something before him, his competitive streak notorious at the camp. 

“Harry too,” Niall added as an afterthought. 

Louis’ head jerked up. “Harry?” he croaked, his voice raw from disuse and crying earlier. 

Niall looked at his friend with cautious eyes. “Yeah. Said he was worried about you.”

“Wha…How? How can he be worried about me? He doesn’t even  _ know me _ ,” Louis protested, heat flooding his voice with no warning.

“I dunno. Just was. What happened?” Niall had turned back to the fire, marshmallow bobbing precariously close to the flames. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Louis said, his tone embarrassingly petulant. 

Niall looked back to Louis, the fire shadowing half of his face. “Gonna have to eventually. Clara won’t let it slide.”

Louis knew it was true. Clara took pride on maintaining a harmonious spirit throughout the camp. In Clara’s other life she was a school therapist. She would force Louis to talk about it. Talk about his feelings. Ew. 

Niall’s stick drooped and deposited the marshmallow into the flames. “Aw fuck!” Niall swore loudly, earning him a few angry looks from the first and mid-year counselors, surely trying to protect the sensitive ears of the younger campers. Luckily the littlest of the campers were engrossed in a ghost story being told by one of the senior fiction writers. 

Louis spent the rest of the night thinking about how to put his feelings into words. It was harder than he thought. Sort of unthinkable, really. He was a master at putting pen to paper, carefully documenting his observations of the outside world into thoughtful prose and rhythmic verse. This was…not really in his wheelhouse.

Before heading back to his cabin, Louis snuck through the kitchen  and grabbed a stack of cheddar cheese and an apple. Pilfering from the mess hall stores was generally frowned upon, but Louis justified his thievery because he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He ambled down the path leading to the cabin, hoping Harry was asleep. Niall said he and Liam were doing some kind of arts and craft activity with first years, which is why neither of them were at the bonfire. 

The cabin was bathed in that same golden light from yesterday, the fragrant smoke of incense hanging near the ceiling. Harry was sitting cross legged on the floor between their beds, his bum resting on a padded purple yoga mat. His eyes were closed, mouth slack and hands open on his knees. 

Of course he meditates too, Louis thought, a trace of annoyance slipping into his subconscious, as he entered the cabin quietly. The door snicked shut behind him with a nearly inaudible sound, but it was enough to rouse Harry. Louis stopped, mid-entrance, as Harry’s eyes opened slowly. Louis was once again caught in the dark magic of his bright green eyes. 

“Hi,” Louis murmured, walking fully into the cabin, slipping off his shoes.

“Hmmm. Hi,” Harry practically purred. 

Louis wanted there to be nothing sexual in that sound. But there was. The sound Harry’s deep voice made while in his half meditative, half fully present voice sounded a little like a very satisfied moan. Sort of like someone might make after the first lick of a chocolate ice cream cone, or the feeling of someone’s lips first closing around the head of your…

“Shit! Sorry. Sorry I interrupted,” Louis blurted out, completely embarrassed, as if Harry could read his thoughts. 

Harry smirked a little and extended his legs, folding over so that his nose pressed against his knee caps. He sat up again, his hair like a curtain around his face. “Not interrupting.”

Louis stood there, uncertain for a moment. He felt awkward and stupid, embarrassed about earlier and just  _ raw _ . His emotions were right under the surface, clawing their way out. “Yeah. ’M just gonna…” He motioned toward the bathroom. “Gonna take a shower, ok?”

Harry nodded and lay back down, stretching his toes and long fingers opposite of each other, moving in such a way that his torso and spine seemed endless and lithe. He was wearing tiny running shorts that gapped at the top of his thighs. He wasn’t wearing underwear. 

Swallowing thickly, Louis entered the bathroom and shut the door. His dick had taken a definitive interest in the visual of Harry reclining in the middle of their floor. His brain was still trying to catch up. He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped into a cool shower. The water felt delicious on his sweat sticky skin and the scent of campfire mingled with his coconut shampoo. What was he going to tell Harry?

After towel drying and slipping on his sleep pants, Louis padded out to the room and found Harry lying on his bed; yoga mat rolled up and stuffed in the corner. Harry looked up from his tablet (Christ, with the tablet again) and smiled. “Good shower?”

Scratching his hair, feeling drops of water spray down his back, Louis walked carefully over to his bed. “Look, Harry.” He stared at the other boy, reclined and peaceful on the middle of his bed, looking like a renaissance painting, all curved lines and soft edges, his hair curling on the pillow, lips pink and slick.

Louis started again, trying not to get distracted. “Harry—I…I’m sorry about today. I was…kind of being an asshole.”

Harry sat up slowly and placed his tablet on the nightstand. He crossed his legs, posture open and relaxed. “Oh?”

Louis licked his lips and sat down on the edge of his mattress, feeling the scratchy wool of the blanket prick at his skin through the thin pants. “Yeah. Um…so, like…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Here’s the thing. I’m like. The best. You know?” 

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “The best?” There was an edge of disbelief in his voice. “At what exactly?”

And somehow, with that voice of his, Harry had turned Louis’ attempt at coming clean into a sexual innuendo. 

“No. No! I mean…like I’m the best here at camp. Well, at poetry specifically. Not just here. Like, at home, too? Right. So, Um…I wasn’t exactly expecting you. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to be better than me.” That last bit came out lower, a little more bitter than the rest of his confession.

Harry angled his body to face Louis more fully, his back curving against the wall behind him, brightly hued fabric wrinkling with his movement. If Louis angled his head just so he would be able to see up Harry’s shorts. The confession got stuck in his throat as Louis contemplated the pros and cons of looking up his roommate’s shorts. For a moment his brain went a little fuzzy and it was difficult to find words.

“Ok…” Harry said slowly, rolling his tongue along the inside of his mouth, white teeth poking out from behind full lips.

“Yeah. So, when you read your poem today?” Harry looked at Louis expectantly, waiting for Louis to continue. “I didn’t expect it to be so good.” He looked down. “So much better than mine. Than  _ me _ .” Louis couldn’t help it; there was an embarrassing crack in his voice. Shit. 

He heard a soft creak of a mattress and before he knew it Harry was kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Louis. Hey. Louis.” Harry’s deep voice was low and soothing. Louis thought he could fall asleep to that voice, deep and slow in his ear. 

Louis opened his eyes and looked at Harry. He was closer than he thought. Their eyes stared into one another and Harry’s big hands were resting on either side of Louis’ legs on the mattress. Louis could feel the heat from his body and it felt like sitting in the bright light of the summer sun. 

“I’ve read your stuff you know?” Harry said, still searching Louis’ eyes.

“Wh-what?” Louis was genuinely surprised. He had a few poems that had been published but mostly in lesser-read publications. Other than that, he was pretty certain the only people that ever read his work were his mom, Clara and professors. 

“Yeah. Clara sent me some when I was deciding if I wanted to come here this summer. She thought maybe it would help me see what kind of kids I’d be working with. She really wanted to sell me on Camp Darwin, you know? Guess she thought she’d send me something really convincing.” Harry smelled like the incense he was constantly burning. That and something nostalgic, familiar. Louis realized that he smelled like books. Like the tattered edges of paper bound in leather and sitting on a well-worn shelf. He smelled comfortable, like something Louis wanted to curl up around and spend his days with. 

Blinking quickly, Louis said nervously, tentatively, “What did you think?”

“They’re brilliant.  _ You’re _ brilliant Louis.” Harry spoke passionately, leaving no room for error, for misinterpretation. “I’m here because of you, Louis. Because I wanted to work with you. Write with you.”

Louis shook his head. “Well, that’s just stupid Harry.” A bit of the old confident Louis crept back into his tone. 

“’S not. And, for what it’s worth I’m sorry I said that thing about you being the one to beat last night. I was just…well you weren’t exactly welcoming so I…guess I wanted to put you in your place. Sorry if it hurt your feelings.” Harry leaned back so that he was sitting on his haunches, shoulder muscles rippling around the straps of his tank top. 

“’S ok. I really was being a dick.”

“Yeah. You really were.” Harry smirked, a dimple creasing the smooth expanse of his cheek. Louis thought idly that it would really be something to fit his tongue inside it. 

“Hey!” Louis smacked at Harry’s arm, feeling the tension lift somewhat in the room. 

The two boys stared at each other for a moment, both smiling, Louis’ brain working to catch up with what had just transpired between the two of them. From the looks of it, Harry was lost in his own thoughts as well, his eyes soft and unfocused, face smooth and peaceful. Louis idly recognized how beautiful Harry was. Again. The eyes, the lips…all of it was almost too much.

“Your poem today was really good,” Louis said at last, honestly, earnestly.

“Thanks,” Harry said in that sort of slow drawl of his. “It’s uh..a work in progress I guess? Like, I think it’s helping me, being here is helping me get over a bad time in my life, you know?”

Louis nodded his head but didn’t agree. Because he didn’t know. Couldn’t possible know what if felt like to be heartbroken. The closest he ever came was getting a B on a paper. “How long has it been?” Harry looked at Louis with a question in his eyes. “Since you broke up with your, erm?”

“Oh. Boyfriend. Right. Um…about three months now?” Harry picked at a loose thread on the carpet, the worn rug having seen better days. “Gets better every day, but…you know…” 

“Not really,” Louis said. He shuffled on his mattress, laying down on his side and propping his head up on his hand so he could still look at Harry.

Harry got up and went to his bed, laying the same way, a perfect mirror of Louis on the opposite side of the room. “No?”

Louis rolled over to his back, the imploring look in Harry’s eyes too much all of a sudden, too intimate. He stared at the ceiling, at the sheer fabric Harry had draped in wide valances over the rafters. “Nah. Too busy.” He let the words hang there in the air, like spun cotton candy, airy and light, but disintegrating quickly. 

“Anyway. Good night, Harry,” he said, turning on his opposite side, facing the wall. He could feel Harry’s eyes boring into his back, right between his narrow shoulder blades. 

“Night Louis,” Harry whispered after a long moment. He turned off the lamp with a quiet click. “See you in the morning.” His voice was gentle, almost caring. Which was…too much. Too much for Louis and his neat boxes and future plans. 

Louis felt his eyes open wide in the dark room. He could see the white glow of Harry’s tablet casting the room in shadows and he could hear the soft pad of his fingertips typing on the small screen. 

Louis felt marginally better than he had last night and definitely better than he had this afternoon, but there was still something looming over him, something he couldn’t quite name or touch. It was just a  _ feeling _ . Not unpleasant, but just  _ there _ . 

Pulling the drab blanket around his shoulders, Louis closed his eyes and sighed at the feeling of finally putting the day behind him. Tomorrow, he thought, looking forward, as always.

****

Louis woke the next morning to Joni Mitchell playing softly in the bathroom. He rolled over and looked around the cabin, bathed in early morning light, the colorful wall hangings and scarves casting jewel toned shadows around the room. Somehow he had managed to sleep, finally giving himself over to words flowing through his brain like rivers of unfinished verse. He felt a renewed sense of purpose, wanting to get to his workshop to see if he could process some of what he was feeling into words on the page. 

“Oh! You’re up.” Harry came out of the bathroom, a cloud of fragrant lavender steam billowed out behind him. His hair was wrapped in a soft purple towel turban (he brought his own towels? Louis found himself wondering) and a short yellow towel wrapped around his waist. Louis was struck dumb for a moment at the sight of the boy in front of him. Harry was all long torso with softly defined muscles and drops of crystalline water clinging to ink littered skin.

“Yeah…um.” Louis’ voice was sleep rough as he sat up in his bed, dragged his eyes away and stretched his arms overhead. Harry looked at him for a long moment before dragging his own eyes away. “Can I get in there? The bathroom, I mean?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m just…gonna get dressed out here. Want me to wait for you? Walk to breakfast with you?” Harry sat on his bed, towel drying his long hair. A few glossy wet curls tumbled out. Louis averted his eyes at the barely modest towel around Harry’s waist, a hint of what lay underneath it in the shadows between his legs.

Louis got up and padded over to the closet to pull out clean shorts and a t-shirt. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” He looked over his shoulder and found Harry staring at him again. To say he was flattered was an understatement. He knew how he looked. He’d seen himself in a mirror before. It was just that it was so unexpected that  _ Harry _ would look at him like that. Harry, who apparently has had real boyfriends before, who looked like he was carved from marble and should be on display at an art museum or some shit…

Louis was lost in his own thoughts as he quickly showered, opting to skip shaving, and brushed his teeth. He dressed quickly in the sticky humidity of the small bathroom. When he emerged the cabin was empty. He thought for a moment that Harry had decided to go on without him. But then he heard a soft voice singing outside. 

_ “Blackbird singing in the dead of night. All your life. You were only waiting for this moment to arrive.” _

Louis smiled softly at the sound of Harry’s deep raspy voice, smoothed out with the melody of the classic Beatles song. He was perched on the bottom step of the small porch entering their cabin. He had twisted his hair into a wet bun on top of his head and was wearing a bright yellow tank top and short white swim trunks. He was barefoot.

Louis opened the screen door and said, “Beatles fan, then?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Who isn’t?” Harry smiled up at Louis and went back to looking out into the forest. “See that bird over there?”

Louis squinted and saw a small black bird with a brilliant scarlet oval on its wing. “Yeah?”

“That’s a red-winged blackbird. They are really pretty when they fly…that bright splotch of red lighting up their ebony feathers. Sort of like night bleeding.” Harry looked at the bird for a moment more. Louis followed his eyes and thought he was probably right, the bird would look pretty against the backdrop of a bright blue sky. 

The early morning light streamed in hazy beams through the woods. Louis could feel the gentle breeze coming off of Lake Michigan through the forest. There was the light scent of pine in the air and it was warm already. It was tranquil, sitting next to Harry, feeling the warmth of his body radiating heat like steam rising over a lake at dawn. They sat close and still on the porch of their cabin, birdsong in their ears, legs brushing gently together. 

“Anyway.” Harry stood up and brushed the small bits of leaves and debris from his bum, slipped his feet into his sandals, and said, voice loud but light, “I’m starved. Let’s go!” 

And just like that, the moment was gone. Louis felt his head spin at how fast Harry seemed to change gears. He was observant and quirky, singing about birds one moment and then acting like a typical teenager the next. He was a conundrum. Louis found himself wanting to like him, in spite of himself and all his jealous competitive tendencies.

They started off on the path to the mess hall, the beautiful summer morning unfolding around them. Louis pulled his cobalt blue t-shirt down over the waistband of his cut off jean shorts. “Harry?”

“Hm?” Harry tripped a little on a tree vine that traversed their path. Louis reached out to steady him, the heat of Harry’s skin warm and soft under Louis’ palm.

“Where do you usually get your inspiration from? You know…for your poems?” Louis felt a little shy asking, because he really never talked  _ process _ with anyone. It had always been him, alone, in his own little world. It had always been enough.

Harry slowed a bit, scuffing his sandal clad feet on the wood chips and pine needles lining the path. Louis thought he would probably end up with a needle in his big toe or something and was just about to warn him when Harry finally spoke. “Just, life. You know?”

Louis glanced up at him and found spring green eyes looking down at him, so open and honest. “No. I really don’t know.”

Harry stopped and placed a hand on Louis’ arm. “Like, from your experiences. Your relationships, you know?” 

Louis looked everywhere but Harry and his penetrative stare, those eyes that seemed to see right inside of him. “Right. Sure.” 

Harry turned and started walking again, but the silence between them hung like a cloud, blocking out the sunlight overhead. “Clara said you’ve been coming here for ten years.”

“Yeah. Since I was ten. Just a kid. Practically grew up in these woods.” Louis exhaled, glad to change the subject, sore at himself for even bringing it up. What was with him this year? He was moping and wallowing in some kind of emotional self-pity from the moment he found out there was a new senior poet attending.

“Bet you were a cute little kid.” Harry’s smile was evident in his voice.

“Ha. Not quite. I was scrawny and loud. Too loud. My mother was glad to get rid of me every summer. Said she could finally think again.” Louis smirked at the memory. He was obnoxious back then, always thought he was better than everyone else and set out to prove it too. Maybe not so different than he was now.

The dining hall appeared up ahead, the sound of kids talking and laughing and plates and cutlery echoing through the little valley made by the clearing in the trees where the building and bonfire was. “Wish I knew about this place back then,” Harry said wistfully.

“Just found out Camp Darwin this year?”

“Well…yeah. Actually. Just started writing poetry this year. Took a class at Berkeley and it sort of clicked. I mean. If I found out about Camp Darwin when I was younger maybe I could have started writing then. You know?”

Louis stopped and stared at Harry, disbelief spanning his delicate features, a small iridescent white moth flittered around his arm, hand on his hip. “You what? You just started writing this year?”

Harry blinked at Louis, slow and sleepy. “Yeah.” He took note of Louis’ face, disbelief slowly turning into something darker, more…angry. “What?”

“I can’t believe you.” Louis stared at the taller boy a moment longer and then turned abruptly and stalked toward the dining hall. “Fuck,” he muttered as Harry ran to catch up.

“What?” Harry demanded; genuine confusion in his voice.

“What?  _ What _ ?” Louis sputtered, suddenly filled with irrational dislike of Harry Styles again. “You just.” He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head, at a full stop again. “How do you do that? Just look so…so...so fucking perfect when you say something like that?”

Harry just looked at Louis, bewildered, his mouth open like he wanted to say something but clearly unable to speak after Louis’ outburst. 

“Some of us have worked our whole lives to get half as good as you. You know?” Louis said, quieter now, but with heat behind his voice. “Some of us will probably never get to be as good as you. Ever,” he said, so quiet, Harry wasn’t sure he heard him, as he turned to enter the hall. 

Harry stared after him, still not sure what happened. 

****

Louis got a few words on paper today. Thank god. Most of them were some kind of incoherent form of hate. Or strong dislike. Whatever. He knew they were directed at Harry Styles, poetry prodigy extraordinaire, but he didn’t want to think about it too much. His bad mood was creeping into his head, making it ache with the effort it took not to explode again at Harry. He was still trying to make sense of how quickly he went from wanting to like Harry and get to know him — maybe even  _ learn _ from him — to being completely livid with his seeming nonchalance at his mastery over the written word.

Clara swung and scribbled for the two hour morning workshop while Harry lay on the floor tapping away on his tablet. Louis splattered angry, rough words across the pretty linen pages. Louis felt confusion crowd his mind while he tried to process exactly who Harry Styles was. 

The kid just admitted to just starting to write poetry and already he’d captured the attention of one of the most prolific writers of their time, Clara, who happened to own and run the most prestigious writing camps in the country. The first time Louis was praised, actually on the receiving end of praise from Clara, was when he was Fifteen. Fifteen. Five years after coming to Camp Darwin and at least 10 years of writing poetry. Clara said, “Good work kid”.  And to Louis it was like a symphony. The world stopped and he thought to himself, that’s it. I’ve made it. 

“Good work kid.” The words echoed in his mind.

So, Louis felt a bit entitled to feel anger toward Harry, who waltzed into camp yesterday and just happened to be some kind of wunderkind. 

“Heading to the lake,” Louis said, as a farewell, short and to the point. He placed his papers and ink pens into his folder on the shelf near the window seat. 

Harry looked up sharply and Clara just waved her hand at him, not looking up from her own work. “Hold up. I’ll go with you,” Harry said, scrambling up, his long legs twisted underneath him. 

“Whatever,” Louis said, letting the door slam behind him, already walking down the path. 

“Hey!” Harry yelled after him, “Hey!”

Louis walked faster, not in the mood for more Harry. Perfect Harry with his stupid face and fucking sexy lips and long legs and big dick - he’d seen plenty last night and this morning to know  _ that _ was a certainty - perfect Harry who could write circles around Louis. Louis lengthened his stride, hearing Harry gaining on him. 

“Louis. Lou! Wait up!” Harry sounded closer than Louis thought.

Fuck this.

Louis broke out into a run. He knew these woods better than Harry did. Knew all the shortcuts and paths like the back of his hand. The senior campers were all meeting at the beach for a mid-morning swim. Louis was determined to get there before Harry.

Louis felt the wind in his face as his legs started to burn with exertion. He took a last minute left down a narrow path that he knew curved right behind the camp beach. He heard Harry yelp behind him and he smiled. Big tall oaf probably caught himself on that low magnolia branch. Louis picked up the pace.

Feeling smug, Louis pumped his arms and felt the ground barely touch the bottoms of his feet. He didn’t even see the log blocking the path; eyes trained on the opening in the tree line ahead, where he knew the beach lay beyond. His left leg hit the log at full speed, catching the middle of his shin, sending him flying into the air and down the path a good two feet. He landed with a sickening thud, smacking his chin on the ground below so hard his vision blurred for a moment. He shrieked in pain, his right foot twisted underneath him.

Groaning, Louis rolled over and pulled his leg closer to his body. He clutched his knee and rocked on the hard ground, moaning in agony.

“Louis!” Harry, sweaty and out of breath, leaped over the log effortlessly. Louis bit back the urge to lash out at him and his long coltish legs that didn’t fall miserably the same way his own did. “Lou. Jeeze. What happened?” 

Harry fell to his knees and looked at Louis’ ankle, which was swelling grotesquely above his sneaker. Harry placed his big hand flat on Louis’ stomach while his other hand reached out for Louis’ foot. 

“No!” Louis yelled, jerking his ankle away from Harry’s tentative touch. 

“Shh.” Harry soothed Louis, leaning over him, pushing damp hair from his forehead. “Christ. You’re bleeding.” 

“Fucking ankle,” Louis hissed, arching his back and still holding his leg at the knee. His face was twisted in pain. Harry’s face was scrunched with concern, a deep crease between his brows as he looked from Louis’ ankle to his chin and then deep into his eyes. 

“I should…want me to go? I should go get someone. Do we have a nurse or something?” Harry’s deep soft voice calmed Louis down. 

Louis pushed himself up to a seated position. In one easy movement, Harry took off his shirt and pressed it to Louis’ chin, soaking up blood that was flowing freely from the gash there. Louis reached up and pressed his hand over Harry’s. Harry’s eyes widened but let Louis’ fingers entwine with his over the wound. Louis pushed his leg out straight, wincing in pain. 

“It’s an old soccer injury. My right ankle is weaker than the other. I twist it all the time. Jus’ need to ice it and take some ibuprofen.” Louis swore again, trying to settle his leg in a position that wasn’t agonizing. “Won’t do any good to get anyone. Nothing anyone can do.”

Harry settled back, still holding his shirt at Louis’ chin, his other hand clamped loosely over Louis’ upper thigh. Louis took in Harry’s naked torso. He was glistening with perspiration, his chest flushed a light pink, and…he had four nipples?

“Four nipples?”

Harry looked down at his chest. “Um…yeah? A pair and a spare?”

Louis shook his head. Harry was a weirdo. “Can you help me get up?”

Harry nodded his head and pulled his hand away from Louis’ face. Louis’ hand felt cold, his whole body felt cold all of a sudden, in the absence of Harry’s touch. He pushed the thought away as he saw Harry’s abdominal muscles ripple under the taut skin of his stomach. He had tattoos covering his hips, under his collarbones, over his shoulders and one large butterfly over his stomach. All of that ink covering pale skin was fascinating. And infuriating, a study in opposites. Tattoos and hard defined muscles with long flowing curls and honey sweet words falling from his lips. 

It made Louis want to scream.

Louis wanted to ask what each tattoo meant, but he was distracted by a wave of nausea from the pain in his ankle so he pressed his lips together and struggled to stand up.

“Easy. Easy,” Harry murmured against Louis’ neck. He wrapped one of his long arms around Louis’ back, his hand notching easily under the opposite armpit. Louis shivered from the feeling of hot breath at his pulse point. Half standing, half being dragged by Harry, Louis finally stood upright. He held his injured foot up and braced himself with his arm around Harry’s neck and shoulders. The strong broad shoulders were more than enough to lean against, Harry’s lean body providing a steady frame as well. 

“I’m…” Louis blew out an embarrassed breath, “Gonna need you to help me.” He looked up at Harry sheepishly, suddenly feeling like a complete asshole for running away from him. Karma’s a bitch, he thought bitterly. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever you need.” Harry said urgently, inching even closer, apparently willing to forget that Louis had injured himself running away from him. Louis could feel every hard ridge and soft curve of his body pressed to his own. He was pretty sure he would be getting hard right now if he wasn’t in so much pain.

It had been a long time since he felt a boy’s body this close to his. A long time. 

He wished he could appreciate it more.

The pair started to hobble through the woods, slow going and painful, every jostle or bump making Louis whimper. Harry shushed into Louis’ hair whenever Louis needed to stop and catch his breath. At one point Louis hid his face in Harry’s side, his nose buried into Harry’s armpit. Harry smelled  _ so _ good. Manly and spicy, earthy and like the smoky incense he always burned. Again, Louis found himself chagrined and mentally kicking himself that he couldn’t appreciate it more fully. Appreciate  _ Harry _ . Pain aside, his fucking ego was keeping him at arm’s length. Figuratively.

They could almost see their cabin as they came to a crest on their path. Louis was sweating from the exertion of hopping nearly the whole way on one foot and Harry was physically bent in an unnatural curve so that Louis could lean on him. “Louis. Here…”

Harry stopped and shuffled so he could get in front of Louis. Louis held himself up by placing his fingertips on Harry’s back, the skin smooth and slick. Harry bent down in a low crouch. 

“Wh-what are you doing Harry?” Louis squeaked out because Harry had bent down in front of him. Louis either needed to never see that again or see it every single day of his and his dick’s life. Harry’s broad back was sweat slick and his white shorts were low on his hips so just a hint, a teasing illusion, of his crack was on display. Louis needed to lie down. The pain was getting to him. That or Harry’s obscene body. He felt dizzy and really thirsty all of a sudden. And his damn dick was starting to betray him, definitely taking interest in Harry and his broad back and his ass on display in front of him.

“Just hop on.” Harry looked over his shoulder at Louis, an easy smile spanning his face, completely unaware of the havoc he was wreaking on Louis’ body.

Louis gulped. And eased himself over Harry’s back, blanketing him completely. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and leaned forward, completely aware of his half hard dick pressing into the line of Harry’s ass. Louis just wanted to bury himself underneath his covers and not come out for a very, very long time. At least until today was long gone and forgotten. 

In one smooth movement Harry grabbed the back of Louis’ legs and hauled him up on his back like he weighed nothing. He bounced once and Louis slid into position like he belonged there. Louis’ cock was trapped between them, and as Harry started to walk the friction was a complete distraction, causing Louis’ mind to blank out completely.

In Louis’ current predicament he was thankful that the pain had been replaced by something marginally more…pleasant. 

Harry hummed a song, something Louis didn’t recognize as they made their way through the forest. Louis had to admit, boner aside, that this was really a great way to travel. He could get used to this. Getting carted to and fro. Never having to actually walk somewhere … just having a strong handsome boy transport you on his back all the time. Yeah. This was the way to travel.

“Ok back there?” Harry asked, once the cabin was within throwing distance. 

“Yeah.” Louis couldn’t help it, his voice came out like a dreamy schoolgirl. Fucking Harry Styles. Louis was blaming it on the heat. And the fact that Harry smelled like the way sex  _ felt _ . 

“Gonna carry you into the cabin, ok? Put you down on your bed, yeah?” Harry didn’t even sound winded. Fucking unfair.

“Ok. Yeah,” Louis murmured, edging his nose closer to the back of Harry’s hair so he could smell it. He was trying not to feel  _ too _ creepy about it.

Harry navigated the stairs, each bump pressing Louis’ more than half hard dick firmly into the small of Harry’s back. Louis closed his eyes in shame. Or ecstasy. Or both. They entered the cabin, the dark coolness a welcome change from the humid air outside. Harry turned his body and squatted down so that Louis could slip off his back.

Harry turned and looked down at Louis, who was trying to up the bed without using his injured leg. Louis caught Harry as his eyes traveled down Louis’ body, stopping between Louis’ legs where his jean shorts were obviously tenting. 

“Hey! Hey. My eyes are up here!” Louis said indignantly, a heated flush spreading over his face.

“Oh? Oh! Right.” Harry immediately sprang into action. He grabbed his own two pillows and placed them gingerly under Louis’ ankle. 

“You can’t blame it, right?” Louis said, clearly referring to his dick. “It was all pressed up against you and you weren’t like…walking smoothly or anything…” Louis coughed, averted his eyes, picked at the pillowcase under his head. 

“Hmm.” Harry made a noncommittal sound as he rolled his eyes and gave Louis’ a slow dismissive nod. 

“It’s true!” Louis exclaimed. “It’s true. It’s just a matter of biology. That’s all.” Louis spoke emphatically, trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Harry.

“Riiiighhhttt,” Harry drawled.

“Shut up, you ass.” Louis looked the other way, biting back a smile. “Now make yourself useful and go get me some ice.”

Harry smirked. “Anything else? Anything else you’re… _ interested _ in?” He waved his hands in front of his half-naked body.

Louis glared at Harry. “Go!” He pointed dramatically at the door, pulling a pillow out from under his head to cover his crotch. He could hear Harry laughing all the way down the path.

****

The afternoon and evening was spent with Louis napping, icing and elevating his foot and Harry writing and doing yoga. Louis told him he could leave…go to the beach or help with the mid-year’s poetry slam, but he chose to stay and “keep an eye” on Louis. 

Around 6:00 Niall and Liam came around to bring the boys dinner and keep them company. Harry had run into them when he was retrieving ice from the mess hall and had told them what had happened. As Louis dug into his turkey burger Niall brought up the décor.

“Looks like a hippie threw up in here.” 

Harry looked around the room. “What?” He said with an innocent tone. “I think it’s lovely.”

Louis smirked. The fact was, the room did look phenomenally better that the ho-hum usual appearance of the cabins. And it kind of was like Harry, Louis thought. Effortless. Easy. Earthy.

Liam wiped his mouth and took a sip of his iced tea. “I like it. We should’ve done something like this to ours, Ni.”

“Fuck that.” Niall laughed. “I like my space manly. Like me. Manly.”

The room was quiet for a moment until they all broke out laughing, Niall included. “Nah.” Niall said, wiping his eyes, “Just kidding. I like it in here. I vote for all our junior and senior gatherings to be here.”

“No way!” Louis yelled. “Not letting those smelly playwrights in here. Never get the stench out!” 

Liam tried to look scandalized, but he couldn’t maintain it. It was a known fact that the playwrights didn’t bathe the whole two weeks. Or it was rumor. Whatever. They smelled. Louis wasn’t putting his olfactory sensibilities at risk.

Niall dug around in his messenger bag, stuffed full of music sheets and CDs. “Forgot to give you this.” He tossed a rolled up elastic bandage at Louis. 

Louis caught it and examined it. “Thanks.”

“Clara told us to bring it to you. She said you are not excused from regular activities tomorrow. Under any circumstances,” Liam reported dutifully.

“Under any circumstances,” Louis mocked. 

Harry snorted. Niall smiled broadly, white teeth on display. Liam looked confused. “What?”

“What?” Louis teased. “You’re such a boy scout Liam.”

Liam’s face contorted in embarrassment. Louis continued, “As if I’d just lay around here on my ass, Liam. Didn’t come all this way to let a little sprained ankle hold me back.” Liam nodded slowly, glad Louis was only teasing. 

The boys all chuckled and finished their dinner, pushing back the takeaway containers. Harry moved around Liam and Niall, who were seated on the floor, and cleaned up their garbage. Tying up the bag, Harry nodded toward Liam. “Take this out with you guys when you leave?”

“Yeah sure,” Liam said eagerly.

“Boy scout,” Louis muttered under his breath, but loud enough for the boys to hear him in the tiny space. Laughter rang out and swirled around them again. 

Niall leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out. “Ok. Who’s got stuff?”

Harry looked from Niall to Louis and back to Niall. “Stuff?”

Louis spoke first. “Stuff. Like alcohol. Cigarettes. Stuff.”

Harry looked around the circle of boys. “Seriously? You guys…you don’t just write up here?” His voice sounded almost manic, surprise mixed with excitement. 

“No. Of course we don’t just ‘write up here,’” Niall said, rummaging through his bag again. “I’ve got this.” He pulled out a small flask. “Whiskey. Got another flask in my bag back at the cabin.”

Liam nodded approvingly. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. They were slightly smashed but intact. 

“Nice, Leemo!” Louis cheered. “I’ve got…” He stretched and fit his hand between the wall and bed. He pulled out a large white bottle. “Haha! Voila!” He showed off the bottle of like a prize. “Rumchata!” He announced with great flourish.

“AAAAH!” Niall cooed loudly. “Love the Rumchata!”

Harry looked from boy to boy and at their spoils in the center of their makeshift circle. Louis watched him carefully, wondering if maybe they made a mistake in trusting him with this little bit of knowledge about their covert stash. Louis and his friends have been bringing contraband to camp for a few years now. It had become sort of a ritual. 

“It’s ok Harry. You didn’t know,” Liam said soothingly, always the first one to notice anyone’s discomfort. 

Harry pinched at his bottom lip, the full pink bow folding between his thumb and first finger. He rolled it slowly, as if he were considering something very important. “No, it’s not that…” He got up, unfolding his long legs and standing in one quick fluid movement. He walked over to the dresser that he had unpacked all of his clothing into. Louis had thought it ridiculous. Who uses dressers? Please. “I’ve uh…” He was rummaging in the top drawer, his arm swallowed up in its deep recesses as he stretched to reach the back. 

Harry walked back to the circle and sat down again, opening his hand and dropping a baggie on the floor. “I’ve got something to contribute,” he said slowly, shyly.

After a pause, Louis leaned closer. “Harold. Is that what I think it is?” Louis asked slowly.

“If you think it’s weed then yes, you are right.”

Niall jumped up and tackled Harry. “I knew I liked you for a reason!” 

Harry yelped as Niall landed them in a heap on the floor. “Hey! Hey! You’ll smash the stash!” Louis yelled at the two goofy boys, a mess of limbs and giggles, as they hugged and thumped each other on the back. 

The two boys sat up, and Louis noticed Harry’s face was pink and he was smiling, his entire body lit up with it. It was…beautiful. Happy Harry made Louis’ stomach twist in something indescribable. It made him… _ pleased _ . Louis felt a smile spread across his own face as he looked at Harry. Seeing Harry like this, with his friends and just fitting in so well, it should have made Louis’ angry. Jealous. 

Because…everything else about Harry had made Louis feel that way so far, but this was different. Louis was surprised to realize that seeing the way happiness made everything about Harry more ethereal, prettier, more  _ Harry _ …it made Louis himself happy. 

Harry’s happiness was contagious. For the second time today, Louis found himself feeling appreciative of Harry. 

It made Louis want to reconsider everything. 

****

“Tighter!” 

Harry grunted with exertion, his body contorted unnaturally over the bed.

“Not like that.  _ Fuck _ . Tighter!”

Louis was sweating; he could feel a bead of perspiration rolling down his spine. His face was flushed and the close air in the cabin was threatening to steal his breath. 

“Am I going to have to do it myself?”

“No, no…lemme….just…” Harry moved to a kneeling position at the bottom of the bed and finally got the angle right. Harry blew a frustrated huff of hot air from his mouth, making his hair fly up around his face. “’S hot in here, right?”

“No shit Sherlock,” Louis bit out. “Why did you want to turn the air off again?” Louis’ eyes roamed over Harry’s flushed face and his lean body, so close to his own. 

“It’s not good for the environment,” Harry practically whined, pulling his t-shirt up over his face to wipe the moisture off. 

Finally, finally Harry got the angle right and was able to wrap Louis’ ankle with just the right amount of pressure. Louis smiled at Harry’s effort, despite the heat. “Good?” Harry asked, earning a nod from Louis, who was reclined watching Harry wrap his tender foot carefully.

“It’s not gonna be good for you if when we come back here and it’s this hot in here,” Louis retorted, as Harry finished, knowing it wasn’t as good a comeback as he might usually have with but it would have to do. He was hot. 

Harry gave Louis’ knee a gentle squeeze (Louis tried to ignore the sparks that flew from Harry’s hand to his dick) and pushed himself off of Louis’ bed. “There. Good to go.”

Louis scooted off the bed and straightened his shirt. He slipped his left shoe on and glared at his right foot. He’d have to go without. His foot was just too swollen still. The pain had dulled to an ache, but he wasn’t ready to put all his weight on it yet. He watched Harry tie his hair up in a bun and slip his sandals on. “Ready?”

“Yeah…” Louis paused and looked at Harry, who was watching Louis keenly. “Harry?”

“Hm?” Harry stepped forward, anticipating Louis’ asking him for help. 

“Just…” Louis bit his lip, something fluttering in his chest. Something unfamiliar, but warm, tingly. “Thanks.”

Harry stared at Louis for a moment, his eyes a deep pool of bright green; they reminded Louis of springtime. “’S ok, Lou. I’m here for you.”

Louis didn’t know what to say to that. Because…he’d never really had that before. Or wanted it. But with Harry…it was  _ nice _ . It was ok. It felt ok. 

They met Niall and Liam at breakfast and fell into an easy conversation. The other boys were having fun in their respective programs and were looking forward to Friday night, when they had decided to let loose a little with their contraband. For as many times in as many days as they’d been at camp, Louis found himself watching Harry carefully and marveling at how well he just fit…fit in with their group. 

After breakfast, Harry helped Louis hobble over to their studio and settled him on the window seat before engaging in a few yoga poses to get him started on his morning. 

Louis studied him, completely absorbed in the sway of Harry’s ass as he bent in half at the waist. Shaking his head, he called out, “Harry?”

Harry stood up and angled his long body over a bent knee, arms straight out at each side. He was looking out over one hand, a peaceful but concentrated look on his face. “Yeah?”

“What’s with the yoga before you write?”

Harry exhaled audibly through his nose and straightened, arms lax at his side. “Just helps me relax, you know?” He bent in half again, placed his palms on his knees and arched his back, head coming up halfway. He held the pose and spoke again, “Opens my mind.” He exhaled and folded in half again. 

Louis watched the way he moved, like a slow moving branch swaying in the wind. He was graceful and fluid, long arms and legs finding the poses naturally, evenly, in a practiced series of movements. Louis needed to look away. He was getting lost in his thoughts about how Harry moved, almost as if his entire body was one long sensuous line. It stirred something inside Louis. And something between his legs.

Louis coughed and looked down at his folder. He inhaled deeply, trying to draw some of Harry’s peace and tranquility in by osmosis as he pulled out his pen and paper. 

That day the words seemed to flow from his hand to the paper. He barely felt the words come, just wrote. This was not his usual method. No, typically Louis poured over words and phrases until he got them just right. He would usually write a sentence or word several or 100 times before he felt it was perfect.

Today was different.

Today felt like something molten and hot moved within him. And it poured out of him, liquid and smooth. It didn’t matter if the words were right or if they conveyed the exact emotion that Louis intended. All that mattered was that he was getting them out, releasing them to paper. Must have been the heat, Louis thought absently as he read over what he had written.

Before he knew it Clara was moving around the studio, signaling the end of their independent time together. 

“Anything you want to share today Louis?” Clara called out, blowing out the vanilla candles from the fireplace. 

Louis thought about it as he looked down at the almost unfamiliar words on his paper. “No. I don’t think so,” he said quietly. 

“Suit yourself,” Clara chirped, pulling a sweater on over her sundress. Louis absently thought about how crazy she was with a sweater on in this heat. 

As Louis slid his folder into his box he glanced at Harry. Harry watched him with interested eyes, that small crease appearing again between his nicely shaped brows. Louis looked away quickly. He didn’t want Harry to see what he’d written yet. He wasn’t sure he’d ever want anyone to see it. It felt private somehow. His words felt sacred. He was satisfied to have them on paper. To have them out of him, but still safe, protected. 

****

The first week passed by in a blur. Louis and Harry were practically glued to each other’s sides. Mostly because Louis needed the help getting around, but also because Harry just seemed to genuinely like being with Louis. Which was…well, Louis didn’t exactly make it easy on him.

Yesterday afternoon, after the music writer’s jamboree, Louis had snapped at Harry telling him he couldn’t see half of the performance because Harry’s big head had been in his way. Harry just smiled serenely and apologized. 

The day before Louis had barked at Harry about what a doofus he was because he brought Louis vanilla pudding at dinner instead of chocolate. “Who in their right mind eats vanilla,  _ Harold _ ?” he’d said. Harry just smiled and apologized. 

This morning, while Harry was holding the door open to the poetry studio, Louis tripped on the threshold and Louis snapped, “If you weren’t standing in my way,  _ Harry _ …” Harry smiled. And apologized.

Louis felt bad that he was being a dickwad, but his patience was wearing thin. The thing was, Harry was  _ everywhere _ . He was in the bed next to him in the cabin, across from him in the poetry studio, next to him at meals. He made sure to sit next to him at the bonfire, and he always made sure he was near Louis if Louis and his sore ankle needed someone to lean on. It was unfairly kind and sweet and all kinds of…infuriating. Louis felt his resolve slipping by the minute. 

He couldn’t keep Harry away from him if he tried. And he didn’t want to. The thing was, he wanted to be by Harry. He wanted to hear him talk in that stupid slow voice of his and wanted to smell his lavender spicy sandalwood smoky smell. Louis liked falling asleep to thoughts of what Harry would say or do the next day (all while cursing him mentally for snoring like a freight train in the bed next to him). Louis liked hearing Harry hum or sing some obscure song and he also loved, and he really did come to love it, hearing Harry read his poetry. 

Hearing Harry’s beautiful words, falling from his beautiful mouth, stirred something inside Louis. It made Louis want to be better. And, Louis felt, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t writing for some purpose on the horizon, no, he was writing for himself. For the satisfaction of putting his thoughts and, god forbid, his feelings out on paper. It was…strange.

Harry’s poetry spoke to Louis on some other level; some other plane of existence. And as corny as it sounded (and Louis knew  _ exactly _ how corny it sounded), Louis felt that Harry was put in his path for him to learn something, experience something, become something else. 

He just didn’t know what.

He was pretty sure it wasn’t how to be a dickwad of incomparable measure. 

“What time are we meeting them?”

Harry’s voice broke Louis out of his thoughts, a broken down wheel of crazed incoherency. “What?”

Harry smiled. Again with the smile. “Niall and Liam. What time are we meeting them?”

“Oh. Right.” Louis tapped his fingers at his hip. He felt another verse of poetry thrumming through his veins. It was a near constant burning these days, the words pouring out of him at a steady stream. “Um…10:00. By the path leading down to the beach.”

“Almost time then. Did you get the flashlights?” Harry’s voice was casual, but teasing.

“Yes, asshole. I got the flashlights,” Louis said sarcastically. He was done with the boys making fun of him about the log and ankle incident from earlier in the week. He could finally put weight on his ankle again and he wasn’t risking falling and breaking his neck or some other appendage in the dark. 

“Ok. Ok!” Harry put his hands up defensively. “Just asking!” 

Louis looked him over. God. He was pretty. Tonight he was wearing this ridiculous dad-like Hawaiian print shirt and dark skinny jeans. He managed to make walking in the god-forsaken pants look effortless but Louis had caught himself thinking all night were he put his dick in those things. But it wasn’t the clothes that Louis found alluring about Harry, it was his person; who he was as a person. Everything about him was calm. Peaceful. He oozed a sort of easy casualness that Louis could never find in his life. Louis was always go-go-go. Harry was the exact opposite. Harry was slow-slow-slow. He liked to take his time. Talking. Eating. Walking. Everything Harry did was measured and thoughtful, like he was really in the moment all the time. 

Louis should have found it annoying as fuck. Instead he found it endearing and…hopeful? It gave him hope. That he could be like that. Or at least come close. Take time to see things. Really see and experience life unfolding around him. 

He looked over at Harry, who was packing a bag. He had a blanket (the matching wooly monstrosity that Louis still had on his bed), some bottles of water, a bag of cheese filled pretzels (bartered with some mid-years for a jello-parfait at yesterday’s lunch) and some bug spray. Harry ran his hand through his hair which was left down for a change, long curls cascading over the tops of his broad shoulders. Louis wondered what it would feel like to run his own hands through Harry’s hair. He bet it would feel really good. Like silk. He was pretty sure Harry wouldn’t mind if he just gave it a tug or two to position Harry’s head in just the right place while he wrapped those obscene lips around Louis’ —

“Did you see my other sandal?” 

Louis was caught staring at Harry when Harry turned to face him. His mouth fell open at where his thoughts had been headed. 

“Lou?”

“Hm?” Louis breathed a shuddery breath, the image of Harry’s mouth on his body suddenly stuck on replay in his brain.

“My sandal?” Harry was looking at Louis in bemusement. “What’s with you tonight? You feeling ok?”

Louis didn’t know. Was he? What was going on with him tonight? All week, in fact? 

“Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Just…working on something in my head. A poem,” he said, his voice trailing off. So what if the poem was an ode to Harry’s ass and a soliloquy to his mouth?

Harry shook his head, walking over to where Louis was perched on the edge of his mattress watching him. He stood about a foot in front of him, Louis’ eye’s at crotch level. Louis slowly dragged his eyes up Harry’s body. “Yeah?” Harry said slowly, an extra rasp to his voice, deep and slow.

Louis swallowed, his mouth dry. “Uh…”

“Cuz you know what I think you were thinking about?” Harry’s voice had dropped an unbelievable octave. 

Louis just looked up at him, his pulse racing. Did he say something about Harry’s ass out loud? Oh god, please no, please…Louis was praying fervently that he hadn’t said any of his inner speech aloud.

“I think you’re thinking about…” Harry licked his lips and bent down so he could look Louis’ in the eyes, the green dark and stormy in the twilight dim of the cabin. “My big…” Louis gulped. “Fat…” Harry held his breath, eyes locked with Louis’ wide unbelieving ones. “Bag of weed!” Harry stage whispered and fell back to his bed in peals of laughter. 

Louis took a half second to realize that Harry hadn’t called his bluff, that he was teasing him and not actually accusing him of coveting his body. Once his brain snapped out if its stupor he was moving. He launched a pillow at Harry and then everything he could reach after.

“You…” He threw a shoe. “Fucking…” A balled up pair of socks. “Idiot…” An empty water bottle. 

Harry blocked Louis’ assault with his arms and continued braying out loud peals of laughter. “Come on jerk-face. Let’s go.” Louis got up and stalked toward the door. Harry followed, snorting and ineffectually holding back laughter. Louis could only shake his head. Harry was teasing him, Louis realized, which meant he probably wasn’t being as subtle as he thought about his wandering thoughts about Harry and Harry’s body.

They traversed the woodland path carefully, flashlight beams trained on the ground below. Their bodies were pressed close as the inky black closed in around them. Harry filled the silence with quiet chatter about Berkeley and his mother’s home in Oregon. Louis could imagine the dripping shades of green from the mountains where Harry’s childhood home was, nestled in the Cascade Mountains. He could also see the sun-drenched flower beds lining the paths of the campus where Harry spent most of his days while at school. Harry spoke very similarly to how he wrote, full of description and metaphor. Rich details and a soft cadence to his words. 

They emerged from the cool path to the sandy beach, the ground below still holding and casting off the heat from the day. Louis could see where Liam and Niall had set up their little impromptu gathering. They had spread a blanket out on the sand and surrounded it with these little battery operated candles Niall had stolen from the playwrights. They often used them for ambience in their studio. Something about how the candlelight bred creativity. Louis felt like telling them that air freshener and deodorant might have the same effect. 

“Hiya boys!” Harry said as he flopped down in the middle of their blanket. 

Niall sputtered as Harry jostled his arm, flask tilted at his mouth. The sharp tang of whiskey met Louis’ nostrils along with the dank smell of seaweed and the light floral smell of the moonflowers tangled in the forest border. “Watch it Bambi!” Niall hissed, but his face was mirthful. 

Liam pounded Niall on the back and greeted Louis and Harry warmly. The four of them settled in and passed Niall’s flask around. The first swig of whiskey burned Louis’ throat but he welcomed the warmth sliding down his throat and into his stomach. Harry cuddled in next to him, a solid warm presence at his side. 

“Did you see Stan at the bonfire tonight?” Niall said.

Louis laughed. “I honestly thought he was going to pee his pants.”

Liam shook his head. “What happened? I missed it!”

“Liam, you’d miss your mother’s funeral if you could,” Niall quipped.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Liam said.

“Yes it does,” Niall retorted.

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does.”

Louis chortled. “Assholes.” 

Harry took another deep drink from the glittery silver flask. He just watched the exchange. Sometimes Liam and Niall were like brothers. They could go from fighting one minute to hugging and crying on each other’s shoulders the next. 

“You gonna tell me what fucking happened or not?” Liam’s voice rose with a touch of real annoyance now.

Niall laughed and wiped whiskey from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Jesus. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” 

Liam shoved at Niall, almost knocking him over. Niall righted himself and laughed it off. “’S not important anymore,” he said, passing the flask to Louis.

If Liam could shoot fire from his eyeballs he would in that moment. Niall just laughed and changed the subject. Liam fumed for a while but soon enough they were all talking about school, and their parents and what life back home was like. 

The evening passed pleasantly, the night sky clear and dark above them, the stars casting a white glow over the beach. Louis was always amazed at just how bright the night sky was in Northern Michigan. So different than at home. After a while, Harry pulled out the pot after the flask was empty and they smoked a bowl and all fell quiet and content. 

“Man, this shit’s mellow,” Niall said, sifting sand from one palm to the other.

“Thanks.” Harry exhaled, lying flat on his back, hands clasped over his flat tummy. “Grew it m’self.”

Louis smacked his arm. “You did not!”

“Did too,” Harry drawled.

Liam leaned over Harry, his face cartoonish in the darkness. “Are you shittin’ us?”

“Nope. I’d never.” Harry’s breathing was slow and even. Louis saw that his eyes were closed, lips parted slightly. 

Louis lay next to Harry, feeling the warmth of his bare arms melting into his own. “Spill.”

“My mom and her boyfriend run a pot farm,” Harry said simply.

Of course they do, Louis found himself thinking. Harry continued, “And like, when I’m home…I try out the new stuff. Just to see…you know…how it is. Give my mom suggestions…you know.” If he talked any slower, Louis was sure they’d all fall asleep. His voice was so melodic and pure, like a lullaby descending over the small circle. 

Niall laughed loudly, the sound lost to the waves. “Fucking legend.” 

Liam ran his hand through Harry’s curls, smiling like a lunatic, and then stood up, abruptly. As abruptly as a half stoned and wasted Liam could. “Bed. Have. Have to get to bed,” he mumbled, stumbling off the blanket into the sand. Lightweight, Louis thought.

“Me too,” Niall said, shrugging and gathering up his things. “What about you losers?”

Harry reached out and tangled his fingers with Louis’, giving his hand a squeeze. He didn’t open his eyes when he spoke, nor did he look at Louis. “What do you want to do Lou?”

Louis was too busy feeling the warmth of Harry’s large palm in his to register the words. He stared down between their bodies where their hands joined, the heat circling and swirling up his arm and through his whole body. Harry was so warm. So warm and soft and god, Louis wanted something from him right now. He couldn’t figure out what it was…but he needed something, wanted something from Harry in the worst way. His mind was hazy, lost in need and warm pleasure, the sluggish fog of marijuana swimming through his veins. 

“Louis?” Niall was standing over him with a grin spreading across his face as he glanced at their joined hands. 

“Yeah?” Louis asked, still holding fast to Harry’s hand, not caring about the look of humor in his friend’s eyes. What mattered is that Harry’s head was so close to his that they nearly touching on the blanket. 

“You coming or staying?”

He turned his head slightly and found Harry looking right at him. Harry’s eyes were glassy and round, in a sort of blissed out tranquility. “Let’s go back, yeah?” he heard himself whisper, words practically falling from his lips to Harry’s, they were that close. 

Harry smiled and released Louis’ hand, the tension broken, like a wire cut and snapping into the night sky. Louis shuffled and gathered candles as Niall shook out the blanket. Harry slipped his sandals on and moved alongside Louis as they started walking up the path. Their arms brushed up against each other, fingers touching occasionally, sending little bolts of electricity through Louis’ body. But they didn’t hold hands again. Louis was lost in thoughts about what it meant, what could it mean that Harry held his hand. 

The walk back was quick, the boys ahead chattering about whether cheese belonged on a burger and if cheese fries were better with the cheese actually on the fries or in a cup on the side. They argued quietly, and viciously, both positive their opinion was correct. Louis wished he could join in (because, obviously…cheese was better on anything) but he couldn’t, he was so caught up in thoughts of Harry. He felt as if he were cast in a spell, mesmerized at the memory of Harry’s touch and the feeling of their hands slipping together so easily on the beach.

They said goodbye in front of Liam and Niall’s cabin, down the path from their own, Niall and Liam stumbling loudly into the darkness of their shared room. Louis and Harry walked the rest of the short distance in quiet, bodies close but not touching. Louis could feel something growing between them, something heavy. He felt cloaked in a dark sort of magic. He wanted to ask Harry what he was thinking but he couldn’t find the words. 

Harry opened their cabin door and hung the key on the nail next to the door. He stepped aside to let Louis in. Louis turned back to face him, ready to ask Harry why he held his hand. The words were lost on his lips when he bumped into Harry, right behind him. Harry smiled in that serene way of his, dimple etching his cheek, perfect white teeth glimmering in the darkness. His hands snaked around Louis’ hips, the heat sinking though the soft material of his t-shirt and into his skin. 

Louis looked up at Harry and could see his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Harry?”

Harry leaned in so that his lips hovered over Louis’. Louis felt their chests bump together, his thighs pressing to Harry’s. He could feel Harry’s chest rise and fall with a delicious shudder of breath. Harry held him loosely; Louis’ own hands limp at his sides. 

“Louis…can I…” Harry’s words were petal soft against Louis’ mouth. “Can I kiss you?” His voice was deep and gravelly, a new sort of edge to it that Louis hadn’t heard before. Louis could feel Harry’s breath over his mouth and chin. Harry smelled like pretzels and whiskey, and all of those earthy wonderful things that made him smell like Harry. 

Louis moved his head to the side slightly and leaned forward the last little bit, bringing their mouths together in answer. When Harry’s full lips finally pressed to his, Louis felt like his entire world burst into an explosion of light and color. Harry’s mouth was soft and wet and felt like nothing Louis had ever felt. Maybe it was the pot, maybe it was the long week catching up to him, but Louis felt like he was floating when Harry’s tongue slipped inside his mouth and slid alongside his own. 

Louis let out a little moan as Harry deepened the kiss and slid his hands closer into the small of Louis’ back, pulling his body closer. Something snapped inside Louis then, and everything went  _ live _ . He felt a sudden all-consuming heat as he finally started kissing Harry back,  _ really _ kissing him, putting everything he had into it because, finally, finally, Harry’s mouth was on his and Harry’s body was in his reach and he could finally do something with all these  _ feelings _ he had bottled up inside of him.

Suddenly it wasn’t enough to have them on paper only. He had to get them out, had to  _ use _ them on someone. Someone like Harry.

Louis pushed on Harry’s chest, backing him up to the door behind them. Harry thudded against it solidly, his breath coming faster now, Louis could feel Harry’s lungs expand and contract as their bodies melded together. Louis grabbed the back of Harry’s head and tangled his fingers in Harry’s long hair, winding the silky strands around gentle fingers as he took control of the kiss. He bit at Harry’s bottom lip until Harry gasped and he licked inside with a heat he didn’t think he possessed. Louis could feel himself filling up inside his pants and he needed relief. Soon.

Having Harry finally in his arms, with his tongue and lips and body in his possession, Louis felt himself ignite with the need to  _ own _ him. To make Harry his. To let go of any hesitation he had been edging himself with this week and just control the situation and take what he wanted. 

Louis lost himself in Harry’s kiss, Harry’s body going soft and pliant under him. Louis rocked his hips forward experimentally; glad to feel that he wasn’t the only one submerged in arousal and need. Louis broke the kiss, sliding the fingers of one hand under Harry’s shirt so he could knead the soft flesh of his hip as he tugged slightly with his other hand at Harry’s hair. Harry let out a broken moan as his head was guided backward against the door. Louis licked over Harry’s Adam’s apple and started kissing Harry’s neck with purpose, following every instinct he had in his trembling body. 

“ _ Louis _ ,” Harry groaned, his own hands traveling south so he could cup each cheek of Louis’ ass, pulling him closer to his body as they rubbed their growing erections against each other. “Knew this is…nnngggh.” Louis sucked harshly on Harry’s neck behind his ear, pulling the tender skin between his lips and teeth. “Knew this … what it would feel like….kissing you,” Harry panted out.

Louis rocked his hips forward, connecting with Harry’s, their cocks bumping in delicious friction as his mouth left a hot wet trail from one side of Harry’s neck to the other. Harry just responded so well, was the thing, his body elastic and burning under Louis’, bending and moving in whatever way Louis wanted him. Louis never imagined that this romantic poet with the easy-going nature and soft, lovely face would melt so easily under his touch. And Louis  _ wanted _ to touch Harry. Wanted to touch him everywhere, feel his entire body on fire under his hands. Louis was sick of planning and traveling at the speed of light. He wanted to do something reckless, something borne of desire and need instead of careful organization and foresight. 

He wanted Harry. 

“Bed. Get on the fucking bed.” Louis breathed harshly against Harry’s mouth, his hands itching to get all over Harry’s skin.

Harry moved immediately around Louis, slipping off his sandals, pulling Louis with him. Harry sat on the edge of the bed with Louis’ standing between his open legs. Louis could feel his cock pressed uncomfortably to the seam of his jean shorts as he looked down at Harry’s messy hair and flushed cheeks. Harry looked up at Louis, looking completely wrecked already, just from a little kissing, and he said, slowly, brokenly, “Can I suck you?”

Louis’ hips stuttered as he ran one of his hands along the side of Harry’s smooth face; the sound of Harry’s request going straight to his dick. Harry leaned into the touch and reached his own hands out to grab at Louis’ ass, pulling him closer. Harry nuzzled up to Louis’ crotch, running his nose up and down Louis’ clothed length. He inhaled deeply, making Louis shudder. 

“F-fuck.  _ Harry _ ,” Louis groaned, feeling himself slowly slipping away, relinquishing all of his control to the heat of arousal that coiled between them. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.” 

Harry unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. The moonlight streamed through the window behind him, lighting up his skin in tones of alabaster and cream. Harry looked up at Louis with his lips parted as he slowly, purposefully, undid the button fly of Louis’ shorts. Louis pushed Harry’s hair back and took in his face, furrowed in concentration. “Harry,” he muttered, completely overtaken by the boy’s beauty, the gorgeous curve of his cheekbones and the full wet line of his bottom lip.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Harry murmured, sliding Louis’ shorts and underwear down to his ankles. 

Louis shivered and reflexively clenched his ass, thrusting his cock forward. The head bumped into the wet heat of Harry’s mouth and Harry chased it, tongue out, moaning obscenely. Jesus Christ, Louis thought, he was finally going to get Harry’s mouth on him. He hoped he could stay vertical for it.

Harry guided Louis forward, big hands pulling Louis forward from his bum. Louis felt Harry’s fingers slide into his crack and he threw his head back, the pleasure and arousal from Harry’s touch sending a mind-numbing bolt of electricity up his spine. Harry pulled Louis forward with his hands as he slid forward and took Louis’ cock down, down, down into his warm waiting mouth. He sucked soft and thoroughly as he swirled his tongue, groaning deep in his throat. Louis felt his cock slip further and further into Harry’s mouth until it bumped the back of Harry’s throat. Harry slipped back but kept Louis still with his hands on his ass. His fingers were sliding up and down the length of his crack and moving down to squeeze him under the full swell of each cheek where his ass met his thigh. Then, Harry started moving his head up and down so that he created a slow, steady rhythm. 

Louis looked down then, looked down and saw Harry’s eyes, wet and unmoving as he gave Louis head like he did everything, slow and sure, full of intent and purpose. Louis could feel his release coming, fast and hard as he started jerking forward with every pass of Harry’s tongue over his slit. One of Harry’s long fingers bumped up against Louis’ hole and that was what finally did it. Louis could barely warn Harry as he tugged on his hair, trying to pull away but Harry held him fast, practically pushing Louis all the way forward with his hands on his ass, swallowing around the head of Louis’ cock and taking all of Louis’ come, swallowing pulse after pulse until he was breathless and Louis was a shaking mess in front of him. 

As Louis’ cock slipped out of Harry’s mouth, Harry finally let go of Louis and he leaned back on the bed. He wiped at his mouth and motioned for the water bottle on his end table. Louis pulled up his boxers and kicked his shorts off somewhere behind him. He leaned over for the bottle and handed it to Harry, slipping his fingers through Harry’s hair. He couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the sight of Harry in front of him, all red, swollen lips and flushed cheeks, heaving chest and tangled hair. He was a sight. It had Louis wanting him all over again.

“Lay back,” Louis commanded softly, taking in Harry’s soft demeanor and lazy grin. Harry did as asked, almost immediately, dropping the water on the floor next to the bed.

Louis crawled over him, losing his own shirt in the process. “Gonna have to help me with these,” he said, gesturing at Harry’s jeans. 

Harry smiled and waited for Louis to lie alongside him, between his body and the wall. He bucked his hips up and started to shimmy out of the tight pants. Louis was transfixed by the way Harry’s cock suddenly appeared from between his legs, suddenly realizing it must have been tucked in there somehow. 

“Shit.” Louis breathed out reverently.

Harry cocked an eyebrow and kicked his jeans off the bed. He ran delicate fingers over Louis’ bare shoulder and gripped his length loosely in his other hand. Louis was almost speechless at the sight of Harry’s cock. 

Because when he saw it, finally got his eyes on it, he couldn’t believe how  _ big _ Harry was. What he had felt through the layers of clothing was only a quarter of its true length. 

“Fuck. Harry…” Louis licked his lips. He was pretty sure his entire mouth and jaw would be sore for days after putting that monster in his mouth. But he was willing to try.

“Hm?” Harry’s eyes were half closed in blissful repose as he looked down at Louis. 

“You’re dick. It’s…” Louis batted Harry’s hand away, making him groan and thrust his hips up a little. “It’s  _ huge _ .”

Harry grinned. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

Louis didn’t like that. Not one bit. He didn’t want to think about other people. Other guys seeing Harry’s dick. Putting their hands on it, getting their mouths around it.  _ Fuck _ . Getting fucked by it. Nope. That wouldn’t do at all. With a possessive growl, Louis surged up and landed between Harry’s legs, licking his palm at the same time. He gripped Harry firmly, earning a loud hiss from the boy underneath him.

“My turn,” Louis growled, leaning down and licking up the underside of Harry’s long, perfect dick.

Harry writhed underneath Louis, lost in pleasure. “Lou…God.  _ Please _ .” 

Louis smirked and decided right then he needed to hear Harry beg every day of his life. His own cock stirred between his legs at the sound of the raw need in Harry’s voice. He took his wet palm and slid it up and down Harry’s length a few times, just breathing over the dripping wet head. Harry moaned high in his throat and jerked up. 

“ _ Still _ Harry. Be still,” Louis admonished, slowly stroking Harry, lost in the weight, the feel of it. The skin covering his hard length was silky smooth. The noises spilling from Harry’s mouth spurred Louis on.

It had been awhile since Louis was intimate with someone else. He’d fucked a guy from the soccer team last year at college after they’d half-assed dated for the season and before that there was that kid from his summer lifeguard job. They’d exchanged quick hand jobs in the front seat of his mother’s mini-van after an uneventful dinner and a movie. But Louis hadn’t felt like  _ this _ , this lightheaded and lost in the heat, the feel of another person’s body in a while. Not since his high school boyfriend. His first. With Harry, right now, in this tiny cabin in the woods, it felt a lot like the first time to Louis. He felt open and honest in a way he hadn’t in a long time, maybe ever. And somehow, that was making the feel of Harry’s skin even hotter under his own, and the sounds of Harry slowly unraveling above him that much more… _ thrilling _ . 

Louis licked over Harry’s slit, earning him a loud, slow moan of deep pleasure from the boy above him. “Do you like that?” Louis asked quietly.

“Y…yeah…” Harry moaned, pulling at his own hair.

Louis slid one hand up Harry’s torso and found a nipple. He ran gentle fingertips over the raised bump until Harry groaned for more. Louis dipped his tongue inside Harry’s slit, earning him a husky plea from Harry’s sinful mouth. “More.  _ Louis _ .”

Louis smiled against the head of Harry’s cock and licked across the blunt rounded top, pinching his erect nipple at the same time. He pulled a little roughly when Harry keened from the action, and started rolling the bud while suckling the head inside his wet mouth, tongue flicking against the slit over and over, building a relentless rhythm. He let spit run from his mouth under his palm so that he could slide his hand up and down the hard length easier. The glide was perfect as his hand pushed at Harry’s foreskin, sliding the soft silky skin over his rigid length. He was rewarded with a series of deep moans from the boy under him. 

Harry rolled his hips but then stopped himself when Louis stopped sucking and flicking at his nipple, remembering Louis’ request. Louis rewarded him by doubling his efforts, sliding his wet hand over his shaft quicker and pressing his tongue  _ inside _ the slit again as he sucked hard at the head. Harry moaned over and over, these beautiful loud repetitions, “Oh. Oh…oh… _ yeah _ …please…fuck. Yes, Louis.  _ Yes _ .” 

Louis wanted to hear more of Harry. Wanted to hear him say his name like that in the heat of many more moments like this. Louis wanted to look into Harry’s eyes while he fucked deep and hard inside him. He wanted to slide wet fingers inside the inferno of Harry’s body until Harry begged him to fuck him, to suck him, to do anything to make him come. Louis was literally lost to thoughts of Harry and his release. 

He popped off and switched nipples, making Harry jerk in response. “Want to taste you Harry. Need to taste you,” Louis said, half delirious with the need to feel Harry release in his mouth. Feel the slide of his thick come shooting down his throat. 

Harry answered him with a grunt, his abs tensing and ass clenching beneath him. Louis could tell he was close, could taste the pre-come trickling into his mouth. 

He went down as far as he could then, which was about half way, the head a welcome intrusion in his throat. He slid up and down, hot and wet, tight and fast as his hand worked the other half, meeting and joining, jerking and working to give Harry everything he’d given him. It was messy and loud and perfect and when Harry finally released into Louis’ throat. Louis moaned in ecstasy, the sound muffled by the mouthful of cock, which made Harry groan and grip Louis’ body like a vice between thick muscled legs, arms and torso shaking in pleasure.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” Harry keened as he finished, finally breathing and loosening his hold on Louis’ body between his legs. Louis went limp and continued sliding his wet hand up and down Harry’s shaft; laying his head on Harry’s hip and working to catch his breath. 

“Stop. Lou. Stop.” Harry half giggled, half whined as he pulled Louis up to his chest, his skin sweat slick and shivering under Louis’ body. Louis slid on top of him, careful not to put too much pressure on his spent dick. 

“Kiss me?” Harry murmured against Louis’ lips. 

And who was Louis to deny Harry anything? Harry, the beautiful boy in his arms, with the massive cock and gift with words and probably the best lips Louis has ever laid eyes on…so he kissed Harry until their mouths were sore and the slow light of morning leaked through the windows, and Louis thought he hadn’t felt quite so lucky in a long time. 

****

_ Lips so good I forget my name _

_ I swear I could give you everything _

_ I was stumbling, looking in the dark _

_ With an empty heart _

_ Could we ever be enough? _

_ Lips so good I forget my name _

_ I swear I could give you everything _

_ So hot that I couldn't take it _

_ Want to wake up and see your face _

_ And remember how good it was being here last night _

_ Lips so good I forget my name _

_ I swear I could give you everything _

_ Wanna drive in the night to the end of the earth _

_ And go over the edge _

_ Wanna wake up with you _

_ And say baby let's do it all over again _

_ I just can't get too much of you, baby _

_ It's never, it's never enough, never enough _

The studio felt too hot, too close, with the bright light of morning streaming through the window, casting yellow light in every corner. It was quiet too. Too quiet. Louis coughed, and looked everywhere but at Harry’s penetrative stare. He could feel it, though. Could feel evergreen eyes burning into his skin. It felt like too much. He was too bare.

He’d made a mistake.

Before he could bolt, run through the woods and lose himself in the hum of nature and the buzz of his own heartbeat in his ears, Louis felt Clara’s thin, but strong, arms wrap around him. She whispered in his hair and murmured, “Yes, Louis. That’s it. That’s it. Finally.”

Louis looked up at Clara, his mentor, with a question in his eyes. She responded, “This is you, darling. This is  _ you _ .”

Louis shook his head but let Clara hug him and he weakly hugged her back. He was afraid to let go, afraid to look into Harry’s eyes. Because there could be no mistake here, and Louis, if he was honest, didn’t want there to be any question about it…that poem was written for Harry. Was written  _ because _ of Harry. And he was afraid. Afraid for the first time in his life that the words he’s written would miss their mark.

The last few days, since the night at the beach, Louis and Harry had shared stolen kisses and one of the tiny twin beds in their cabin. Louis felt himself falling hard for the boy that had traipsed into his life just a week ago, with his long hair and incense and yoga and excellent pot. But more than that, he fell in a trance from the intelligence found in Harry’s spring green eyes and the way that Harry just always seemed to know what Louis needed, before Louis even knew it himself. He found himself lost in the way Harry moved, fluid yet tentative, long legs and arms stumbling one moment and then gracefully sliding into a chair next to Louis, humming a Rolling Stone’s song under his breath in that deep gravelly voice of his. He was falling for the feeling of Harry’s lips on his and the way Harry’s hands felt in his own, and the way Harry’s body seemed to just fit with his when they lay next to each other at night. 

During their time together, Louis noticed that Harry was  _ good _ . Pure and good. He went out of his way to help people. Which…it’s wasn’t that Louis was necessarily selfish. It’s just that he’d always been thinking about himself and where he was going next, what he was going to accomplish, too busy to notice what was going on around him. And Harry…Harry made Louis want to slow down, take it all in, and maybe just see what if felt like to help someone else for a change, help someone else get to where they were going instead of helping himself. 

Which is how they ended up volunteering for the first years’ beach picnic yesterday, falling into bed late last night, a mess of sand and sunscreen, too tired to shower and do much else besides share slow lazy kisses until they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. It’s how they ended up helping the kitchen staff serve breakfast today when one of the staff called in sick. And it’s how they ended up telling Clara that they’d help organize the end of camp party on Friday night. All of it because Harry was good and Louis wanted to be a better person. Better for Harry. Better for himself.

So now, on Thursday evening, two days before the end of this chapter in Louis’ life, his Camp Darwin chapter, Louis decided to share his feelings, his deep rooted feelings for Harry. In a poem. Which may not have been the best idea, if the silence emanating from Harry was anything to go by.

Clara let Louis go and slipped quietly out the door, leaving Harry and Louis alone in the quiet hush of early evening. The entire day had been a blur of activity and longing stares and meaningful glances, but not one moment for them to be alone. This was the first time since they woke up this morning, tangled together in Harry’s bed in their cabin. Louis’ stomach fluttered into shards of tiny butterflies every time he thought back to the night they shared after the beach, and all the nights after, the way Harry sounded when he came, the way Harry’s hands felt on his body, the way his lips felt on his skin, urgent and careful, needy and reverent.

Earlier that night, the three of them had settled in quietly to the studio after bonfire because Clara had threatened to kick them both out of camp altogether if they didn’t share what they’d worked on all week. Louis hadn’t shared anything yet, so he was nervous, despite the fact that he had two bulging folders full of verses about the beauty of Harry’s skin, the magic that was his eyes and the way Louis lost himself every time Harry looked at him like  _ that _ . 

Louis had gulped and swallowed his panic, knowing that what he’d written, what he planned to share, was one of many things he’d written about Harry. He really didn’t have anything else to share. He might have worried he was a bit obsessive, and maybe a bit stalker-ish, if he wasn’t so utterly lost in everything about Harry. So, he read his poem first. Harry hadn’t even gotten to share what he’d written. The strength and power of Louis’ poem changed the entire vibe of the night, shifting everyone’s focus in the small studio. Clara left before Harry could share. And now they were alone.

Louis laughed, a small pathetic attempt at normalizing an uncomfortable situation, as he looked everywhere but at Harry. “Look. Harry. Um…I…” He wanted to just blurt it all out.  _ Thank you for changing my life. Thank you for showing me it could be different. Thank you for showing me how to live. _ But…he was stopped, the words clogged in his throat as Harry walked slowly toward him, sliding up off the floor with the feline grace of a slow moving cat. 

“Did you write that for me?” Harry’s voice was low and deep, always low and deep, traveling straight to the very core of Louis. 

Louis looked up at Harry finally, who had crossed the room soundlessly and now stood directly in front of him, casting off an almost unbearable heat, making Louis melt in his proximity, the very presence of him. “Yes,” he said simply, eyes locked with Harry’s. “Everything for you,” he said, sincerity dripping from every word he spoke.

Harry grabbed Louis’ hip with one strong hand and pulled him closer, so that their bodies slammed into one another with a soft determined force. “Want you to fuck me tonight,” Harry whispered into Louis’ ear. Louis stumbled a little at Harry’s boldness, grabbing his forearms clumsily. 

Louis licked his lips and looked up from Harry’s chest. Harry looked at him unwaveringly, bright green eyes gone dark and dangerous. “What about…about the…bonfire?” Louis asked stupidly.

“Would you rather go to the bonfire…” Harry said, pulling Louis with him toward the door, “Or would you rather put…” He slipped his sandals on. “Your…” 

Louis licked his lips and watched Harry slip his feet into his shoes, his stomach flipping at their proximity to each other.

Harry kissed his mouth chastely. “Dick…” 

Louis could smell Harry's peppermint gum on his breath and felt his dick jump at Harry's utterance of the word.

He squeezed his ass. “In…” 

Louis' eyes rolled back in his head at the feeling of Harry's big hands enveloping each cheek. Fuck he felt so good, pressed up against him like this. Louis didn't want him to ever let go.

Harry sucked his earlobe into his mouth. “My…” 

Louis shivered involuntarily, Harry's coarse breath swirling around his ear and making his knees buckle.

Harry kissed him full on the mouth, tongue hot and wet and clever. “Ass?” 

Louis' entire body jolted, the feeling of acute desire rushing through every cell in his body until he felt he was screaming from the inside out. “What the fuck are we still doing here?” he said in a rush, pushing past Harry, ignoring his fattening cock, not looking back as Harry giggled and locked the door behind them. 

Later, Louis couldn’t remember how they got back to the cabin, it was a blur of Niall calling out to them as they flew past the bonfire and stumbled along the worn path, groping each other’s flustered bodies and stealing kisses in the shadows of ancient elm trees. But he did remember when he finally got his hands on Harry.

Harry’s skin was like fire to the touch. Harry’s mouth was hotter, open and panting into Louis’, their shared breath like a secret. Harry had all of Louis’ clothes off within seconds and Louis scrambled to do the same with Harry’s. Once Harry was completely naked and bare to Louis, all of his skin on display, soft and supple under Louis’ hands, Louis felt all of his breath leave his body. He stepped back so he could just look at him. 

“Oh my god,” he moaned, worshipfully, tracing each long line of Harry’s lean body with his eyes.

Harry looked back at Louis, eyes on his face, hands behind his back. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as he tried to stand still. 

“Harry. You are…” Louis inhaled deeply, tracking every movement, twitch and tiny shiver present in Harry’s body in front of him in the dark room, lit by starlight alone. “Breathtaking.” 

Louis felt tears gather in his eyes, because he’d never felt the enormity of this kind of overwhelming emotion for another person before. He had only known Harry a little over a week and in that time, through his gentle actions and gracious words, Louis had come to fall for him. Hard and fast. Unyielding and spectacularly.

Harry smiled and held his hand out to Louis in the darkness. Louis gripped Harry’s larger hand in his and let himself be pulled in, let himself be folded into Harry’s embrace. This kiss was softer, gentler, more tender than any kiss they’d shared so far, emotion easily passing between them. Harry pulled away and put his hands in Louis’ hair, kissing from Louis’ cheek, past his mouth and behind his ear. Against his lips he whispered, “Never felt like this before.”

Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and hugged him close. “Me neither,” he admitted, bringing their lips together again. The admission made their kisses sweeter, more intimate. Harry’s hands traveled up and down Louis’ back. As they kissed, he caressed Louis’ arms, traveling up to his face so he could cup his cheeks, bringing Louis to full hardness quickly. Harry’s closeness, his smell, his touch had Louis shaking with need. Feeling Harry’s length grow against his hip, Louis felt something shift inside him. He wanted to control Harry, bring his body to release. Harry made Louis want to take care of him, bring him pleasure. Tease him and hear him beg. The need to have Harry all around him, feel him everywhere, was like a switch slotting into place and Louis began to move. 

Louis turned Harry’s body in his arms so that he could kiss the back of his neck. He moved his long hair gently to the side and trailed his fingertips up and down the sides of Harry’s arms and up the back of his legs, as he pressed wet kisses over the back of his neck and down his spine. Harry shivered, reached behind himself and pulled Louis closer by his hips.

“Patience, baby,” Louis whispered against Harry’s shoulder, biting softly. Harry groaned but kept his hands in place, scorching Louis’ skin like a brand.

“Like that…” Harry moaned, “Call me that again.”

“Hm?” Louis sucked a mark on to the skin between Harry’s neck and shoulder, nibbling at it with his sharp teeth and then licking over it. “Baby?” Louis purposely made his voice rougher, deeper. He was rewarded with Harry’s bum angling back against his cock. Harry’s hands were heavy on his sides and hips as he pulled Louis forward. Louis ground in, sliding his dick into the hot line of Harry’s crack, feeling deep tug of arousal in his stomach.

“W-want you,” Harry stuttered.

Louis pressed in, cock completely swallowed by Harry’s crack, the friction not nearly enough, as he reached around and circled Harry’s cock, dry and slow. He slid up and down loosely. Too loose, he knew. But just enough to make Harry tremble in his arms. “Can I…can I turn around?” Harry whispered, finally, after Louis kissed every inch of his shoulders and the back of his neck. Harry’s head was leaning against Louis’ shoulder as he kissed his neck one last time, sucking and soothing with hungry lips and tongue. 

“Yeah, baby, turn around for me.”

Harry turned quickly and lost his hands in Louis’ hair, pulling him roughly to his body and kissing him with an open mouth, hot and insistent. Louis moaned in Harry’s mouth, knowing they both couldn’t last much longer if they kept this up. “On the bed for me, yeah?”

Harry kissed Louis one more time and walked backward as Louis went to the dresser. “Do you have stuff?” he called over his shoulder. 

Harry eased himself on the bed, lying on his back, legs already bent with his feet flat on the mattress. Louis felt his dick twitch just looking at him. “Yeah. Look…in the top drawer.” 

Louis rummaged in the drawer, messing up Harry’s underwear and swim trunks and found a string of condoms and a small bottle of K-Y at the back. “Someone’s prepared,” he teased, walking back to the bed.

“You never know,” Harry said absently, already stroking his big heavy cock. 

Louis crawled between his legs, dropping the supplies near Harry’s head, and bringing their mouths together. It felt like it had been ages since he tasted Harry’s mouth and felt his lips moving against his. Kissing Harry felt like flying. Flying but grounded at the same time. 

The kissing turned dirty quickly, both boys grinding their full cocks together deliriously. Harry captured Louis’ earlobe in his mouth and sucked on it while panting, “Fuck me Lou. Come on.” 

Louis shuddered and felt pre-come ooze from his almost painfully hard cock. Louis scrambled up and grabbed for the lube. He finally captured it in his shaky hands and poured some on to his fingers. 

“How do you want me?” Harry whined, his mouth open and obscene, glistening wet in the dark room.

Louis slapped at Harry’s hip. “On your front, ass up,” he ordered, that need to control Harry fully present again. 

Harry flipped quickly and popped his small, shapely bum up near Louis’ face. Louis’ mouth watered. He wanted to rim Harry more than he’d ever wanted to rim someone before. He wasn’t sure how Harry felt about it though and he knew from experience that it wasn’t for everyone. He made a mental note to talk to him about it later. But for right now his dick was throbbing between his legs and Harry did ask him to fuck him…so.

Louis circled Harry’s rim with one wet finger slowly, teasing him, reveling in the way Harry’s breath came hard and fast, face pressed up against the pillow. “Like getting fingered babe?” 

Harry whined and pushed back on Louis’ finger and said, hoarsely, “Yes. Yes. Oh fuck.” 

Harry moaned as Louis slipped his finger in all the way past the second knuckle. He wiggled his finger around inside, feeling Harry’s hot velvet walls constrict and pull him in. “Jesus, Harry. Feel so good. Can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Yeah.  _ Yeah _ ,” Harry said, voice rough and muffled as Louis started fucking him with his finger. 

Louis accidentally brushed against Harry’s prostate and Harry arched his back and keened, low and rough, a delightful sound of arousal. “Oh F-fuck.” 

“Yeah?” Louis asked, sucking kisses to Harry’s hip and along the small of his back, searching for that spot again. 

Harry couldn’t respond, his body chasing that feeling again, rocking back on Louis’ hand. Louis squirted more lube and added a second finger pulling a loud wail from Harry’s body. Scissoring quickly, Louis felt the urge to be inside of him, to overtake his body. All teasing forgotten, Louis quickly worked to open Harry up. He added a third finger, the fit tight, but Harry’s body quickly accommodated him. After a few torturous minutes of feeling the velvety tight confines of Harry’s body squeezing at his fingers, Louis shifted to get a condom. He slowly pulled his hand away from Harry’s stretched hole and gruffly whispered, “Roll over,  _ baby _ .”

Harry moaned brokenly and twisted his body so he could face Louis. Sitting up, he grabbed at Louis’ face with his hands and kissed him hotly. Their tongues collided in a blend of passion and desire as Louis fumbled until the condom was sheathed around his throbbing length. Harry broke the kiss and poured lube all over his right hand. He grabbed at Louis’ cock, smothering it effectively, covering it in viscous liquid. Louis groaned, high and loud, and shoved Harry backward on the bed. 

“Legs up,” he ordered.

Harry complied. Actually, more than complied, pulling his legs up so that his shins framed his ears, body bend completely, pink hole open and exposed, ready for Louis to bury himself into. Louis shook his head in disbelief. Fucking yoga. Harry bit his lip and whined, making Louis move.

Louis leaned forward and moved until he was in a full squatting position. He leaned down, gripping the bottom of Harry’s feet and lined himself up, looming over Harry with his cock ready to piston inside Harry’s body. “Ready?”

Harry responded with a deep moan and a vigorous nod of his head. Louis lowered his body and sank his cock deep inside Harry in smooth move. Both boys moaned in unison. “ _ Fuck _ , Harry.” Louis’ body shook with the effort it took to not move, but he didn’t want to hurt Harry. 

Harry took several deep breaths and finally squirmed and groaned, wriggling his bum around Louis’ fully immersed cock. “Lou. Come on.  _ Now _ .” 

Louis understood. He started bobbing up and down, slow at first, both men getting used to the sensation of slick friction, tightness and the way their bodies melded together. Then, as the friction built and the need for more surfaced, Louis started fucking hard and deep inside Harry’s accommodating hole, the intense throb and pull caused by the friction nearly too much. Harry lay there, feet clasped in Louis’ hands, his own hands behind his knees as Louis fucked in, in, in, over and over again. 

Louis’ legs were shaking with exertion, the burn in his muscles from holding himself in the position becoming difficult, despite the pleasure growing deep in his belly. He felt his orgasm coming too quickly, Harry’s body was so hot and perfect, hugging his cock with every movement. The noises coming from Harry’s mouth were obscene, pornographic, low and deep, pushing Louis harder, faster. Louis didn’t want to, but he had to slow down if he was going to last. 

Louis pulled out and kneeled down, pulling Harry’s legs with him and readjusting Harry’s body on the bed. Harry was pliant and went easily, his eyes glossed over in bliss, his mouth hanging open as he panted and whined in pleasure. Louis gently placed Harry’s legs alongside his hips as he fit himself inside the grip of Harry’s legs. Louis slid back inside Harry, bumping his prostate from the sound of it. Harry moaned and started fucking up against Louis as Louis fucked inside him. They moved in tandem now, Louis falling forward and aiming for that spot again. Harry’s cock was trapped between their bodies as Louis pressed his open mouth to Harry’s neck. He mouthed at the sensitive skin there and ground his hips in, pulled almost all the way out, fucked in fluidly and ground down in a smoldering circle. 

Louis did that series of motions a few more times, rubbing his belly down on Harry’s cock in just the right way, and Harry responded beautifully, moaning shakily, finally spurting come between them as he came, long and hard. He grappled at Louis’ sweaty back and wrapped his long legs around Louis’ hips, trapping Louis in his embrace. Feeling Harry’s body squeeze around his cock as he climaxed was enough to make Louis let go. 

Finally, Louis let himself come, pulsing in the condom for what felt like ages, completely releasing everything, all resolve and control gone, leaving his body in relentless spasms of pleasure. His body was weak and spent as he rode out his high, Harry’s breathing in his ear, whispering how good Louis felt, how perfect he was, how amazing he felt on top of him, coming inside him. They lost each other in their harsh breathing; skin stuck together, hands traveling over cooling skin in soft touches of comfort and intimacy. Finally Harry squirmed a little, making Louis shift and pull out. He tied the condom off and tossed it in the trash, falling next to Harry as their bodies came down. 

Louis pressed his face to Harry’s ear and licked slowly around the shell and sucked on his lobe. Harry shivered. “Better stop that or I’ll want to go again,” Harry whispered huskily, wrapping his arm tighter around Louis’ waist, hoisting him closer.

Louis chuckled and ran his flat palm over Harry’s sticky, damp stomach, twirling playful fingertips in the soft trail of hair there. “Hm…need a few minutes but I could be up for that.” Harry laughed, deep in his chest and wrapped his hand around Louis’ wrist to stop him from making more of a mess on his stomach. 

Harry wriggled out of Louis’ grasp after a few moments and went to the bathroom to bring back a wet warm cloth. He cleaned himself off and offered it to Louis. Louis cleaned himself efficiently and handed it back. Harry tossed it toward the pile of their shared dirty clothes in the corner of the room. He climbed back into bed, fitting back into Louis’ space neatly.

It was quiet, the only sounds they could hear were the distant sound of waves on the shore and the wind whispering in the trees outside. They had opened the windows earlier since the heat had dissipated after last night’s rain. Louis could feel his heartbeat slowing down and felt the soft puffs of Harry’s breaths in his hair. 

“What’s going to happen?” Harry finally said in the quiet. 

Louis didn’t even need to ask, because he knew. He’d been avoiding thinking about it all week. They only had two days left and then Harry would go back to Oregon and then California when school started and he would go back to Chicago. It seemed grossly unfair and Louis just couldn’t face it. So he hadn’t. Hadn’t let himself think about what their growing closeness meant, to either of them, or to them as a couple when the week drew to a close. He pulled Harry over to his side so they could face each other, noses close, eyes blinking in the dark. He took a deep breath and smelled Harry. Smoky earthiness, lavender and clean sweat. “What do you want to happen?” 

Harry was quiet for a moment. So quiet Louis thought maybe he didn’t hear him. But then he spoke. “I don’t want this to end.” 

Louis felt his heart flutter in his chest as the implication of what Harry was saying sunk in.

“You don’t…want this to end?” he whispered back, lips brushing Harry’s. He kissed his bottom lip softly, feeling Harry’s breath against his mouth, his hand on his hip. “Me neither,” he said, nuzzling in closer so he could absorb some of Harry’s warmth, his damp skin finally cool.

As they drifted off to sleep, under the soft yellow blanket on Harry’s bed, Louis pushed the thoughts of how improbable a long distance romance was, given where they each went to school and how young they were. He didn’t let himself think about how hard it would be to let Harry go, and what he would do after. Instead, he let himself sink into Harry’s arms, warm and content; his breathing synched up to the boy next to him, their heart beats strong and shared in each other’s arms.

*****

Waking Harry up with a finger in his ass and a mouth wrapped around his hard cock seemed like a really good idea to Louis when he woke and saw Harry’s hair fanned out around his angelic face and the way his morning erection strained against the sheet. It turned out to be a really good idea as Louis was rewarded with a series of heart stopping moans and the taste of Harry’s come flooding his mouth within seconds of sucking Harry’s big dick into his mouth. 

“Fuck…. _ Louis _ ,” Harry groaned, twisting his fingers in the sheets as Louis licked him clean.

Louis sat up and wiped his mouth with the edge of the sheet, his own neglected and fattened cock bobbing between his legs. He reached over Harry to get a water bottle and took a deep swig while leaning over Harry’s stomach. Harry was breathing hard as he grabbed Louis’ hips and maneuvered him into a straddled position over his upper chest.

“Whatcha up to there Harry?” Louis asked playfully, forgetting the bottle as he braced his hands on the headboard.

“Gonna eat you out,” Harry said simply. Louis’ hips stuttered as Harry slid down so he was underneath Louis’ body. Louis took a deep breath to steady himself. He could see Harry’s sleepy green eyes disappearing under him and it made him dizzy. 

“’M not…um…” Louis lost his ability to speak.

“Don’t care. You’re clean enough,” Harry said, muffled as he pulled Louis’ bum down over his face. Louis jerked in response as he felt Harry’s wet mouth close around his hole, his big hands pulling him apart. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Louis called out, the nerve endings around his hole completely on fire, heat pooling quickly in his belly. He loved being eaten out. Loved it more than fucking, actually. Could get off just thinking about someone’s tongue in his ass, so…

This was quite the pleasant turn of events. 

Harry gripped his ass tightly, pressing his fingertips punishingly into the soft yielding flesh, pulling him apart so he could get at him better. Louis lost himself in sensation, writhing and circling his hips as Harry chased his hole with his wet insistent tongue. Harry broke away for a moment and murmured, “Ride my face,” his voice husky and deep, traveling straight to Louis’ dick. Then, he was back at it again, delving inside Louis’ body with a pointed tongue.

Louis’ felt pre-come drip down his length at Harry’s words. “ _ Fuck _ .” His whole body swayed under the dizzying pressure of Harry’s tongue entering his body, sweat breaking out all over his body, chills running up his spine.

Louis started riding Harry’s face then, because when a pretty boy asks you to do something you do it, right? Bobbing up and down so Harry’s pointed tongue entered and left his body in a gratifying rhythm, Louis felt his release coming quickly, hurtling forward like a lightning storm. Louis gripped his cock and a jacked himself roughly as Harry pulled him down and smothered his own face with Louis’ ass. He groaned between Louis’ cheeks, the sound muffled and erotic, as Louis spilled over his fist, hot and fast. 

Louis arched his back and pushed down as Harry swirled his tongue all around Louis’ rim, slurping and sucking while Louis rode out his orgasm. When Louis finally went limp and fell on to the bed, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned lazily at Louis. “Good morning,” he said in his usual morning rasp. Somehow it was ten times sexier with the way his spit glistened on his chin and cheeks and how his eyes shone with the satisfaction of a job well done. 

****

“Really? That’s how you tie balloons?” 

Louis was watching Harry’s big fingers work awkwardly around the elastic edge of the pink balloon in his hands. He was using his teeth to hold one end as his finger worked the knot into place. It was mesmerizing to watch, but it rankled Louis since it was so haphazard and slow. “Yep,” came Harry’s reply, slow and lazy, as he reached for another balloon.

“Ugh. Gimme that.” Louis snatched the green balloon from Harry’s hands and blew it up to full roundness, arching an eyebrow at Harry when he saw Harry adjusting himself in his pants. 

“Can’t help it. You look good like that,” Harry whispered, looking around to make sure none of the other older campers could hear him.

Louis pulled the balloon out of his mouth and tied the end off quickly with deft fingers. “As good as I did this morning with your cock in my mouth?” he said, equally as quiet, but with a teasing edge to his voice.

“Fuck.  _ Lou _ ,” Harry whined and got up, ambling away from Louis. He threw over his shoulder, with a glare, “You’re mean.” 

Louis just cackled and kept blowing up balloons. The mess hall looked completely transformed for the end of camp party. The junior and senior planning crew hung twinkle lights from the rafters and had moved all of the tables to the sides. There was music playing from a sound system in the corner and a stage was set up near the kitchen. Balloons littered the makeshift dance floor and streamers hung from the windows and doorways. It was festive and fitting for a celebration.

Louis usually skipped the party, favoring instead to work quietly in the studio alone the last night of camp. This year felt different, though. With Harry at his side, Louis wanted to savor every last moment. He wanted to stay up late, steal sips of Rumchata in red Solo cups and dance slow and close with Harry. 

It was no secret that he and Harry had hooked up, Liam and Niall, of course, were the first to notice. They cornered Louis one afternoon in the arts & craft studio, with paste sticking to his cheek, forcing him to admit that he and Harry were exploring something more than friendship. Liam and Niall took that as fucking—and Louis didn’t correct them. After that, word spread like wildfire around camp. Liam had a big mouth, but Louis really couldn’t be bothered to care. He kind of wanted everyone to know. He was proud of Harry. Proud of himself for snagging someone as hot as Harry. 

Clara hadn’t mentioned it, but Louis knew the elder poet was more observant than most, so he was sure she knew. He was happy and felt dangerously close to being in love, reckless and without abandon, high on the feeling of Harry and his tender expressions of devotion…writing poetry on his skin and imprinting verses of desire on his heart each night in their tiny bed hidden in the forest. 

Louis looked up and found Harry across the hall, looking at him. Always looking at him. Louis gave Harry a small smile and felt his pulse flutter. Harry’s hands were clasped behind his back and he rocked on his heels as Niall was animatedly telling a story. Harry shook his head and laughed, all while never looking away from Louis. Niall tracked his eyes and turned to see Louis staring at Harry, the sparks igniting across the room. Niall threw his hands up and playfully shoved Harry away. Louis could hear him laugh across the room, undoubtedly teasing Harry. Louis felt the smile grow across his face as he tossed the last balloon on the floor. 

Moments like this, and there had been hundreds over the past two weeks, were what made Louis’ heart soar and plummet at the same time. He knew how rare someone like Harry was, especially for Louis. This moment in time a perfect storm for them, all the planets aligned, he and Harry in the right place at the right time…Yet, Louis knew how devastating it was going to be to walk away from Harry tomorrow. He and Harry had talked earlier in the day, made some tentative plans to visit each other, to Skype, text…all of the things that people did these days to stay in touch. But Louis had always been pragmatic and he knew that Harry had never been his to keep. So he made the plans, but knew all along that it wouldn’t work. Once Harry got back to his life in sunny California he’d wonder what he ever saw in the Midwestern boy with the loud laugh and the moony look on his face whenever Harry looked at him. 

Louis felt bittersweet about tonight, their last night, and he knew he wanted to make memories he could hold on to in the middle of winter, while immersed in his studies and finding his way back into his planned future. 

Clara entered the room then, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “You’ve all done a splendid job here tonight,” she announced. Looking across the room, smiling at each of her senior campers in particular, she continued, “I’ll miss every one of you when you leave me tomorrow. But remember, this is not goodbye. This is farewell and fond travels into the future of your tomorrows.” 

The room erupted in applause, some of the campers wiping at their eyes, while clusters of campers crowded around Clara to hug her. Tomorrow morning would pass quickly, the flurry of campers up and fed by eight in the morning, clearing the camp in under an hour, the dust left swirling in their wake. Friday night was the time to say goodbyes. 

“You ok?” Harry said, suddenly at Louis’ side, a solid warm presence pressing into every point of contact. 

“Hm,” Louis hummed, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah. Just…not looking forward to tomorrow.” 

Harry gently gripped Louis’ chin, turning his face up to look him in the eye. Harry’s eyes were soft but his words fierce. “It’s not the end, right, Lou? It’s not.” As if his words could make it true. 

Louis leaned up and kissed Harry softly on the lips, pulling him into a hug. “Right. It’s not the end,” he murmured into Harry’s neck, taking in his rich smell and savoring it, storing it away for when he’d need it again.

The dining hall started filling up then with all of the younger campers and their counselors. The large room was brimming with music and excited chatter, some of the youngest campers darting around, showing off for their friends. Niall and Liam found Harry and Louis, the four of them quickly filling cups with sweet cinnamon and vanilla flavored liquor. Soon enough they were dancing, surrounded by other campers, the four boys just happy to be together laughing and enjoying each other’s company. More than once Louis caught Niall or Liam giving him a meaningful look, sometimes filled with pity or some other kind of sad-faced emotion. Louis just looked away quickly and lost himself in Harry’s long arms and fragrant scent.

Close to nine pm, when the younger campers would be rounded up for bed, Clara climbed up to the stage to invite her handpicked “stars” from each genre of writing to share something they’d worked on during the two weeks. With everything else that had happened, Louis had forgotten about this little highlight of his stay at Camp Darwin. Usually he had something prepared, but tonight he found himself not ready. No matter, he thought, when Clara called him (she always did) he’d just share something he’d written from a previous year. 

The songwriters were up first and a junior, named Stella, was called up. She sang an acapella version of a love song—a sad tale of lost love and broken hearts. It was beautiful, but Louis didn’t have time for sadness. Tonight was for happy memories. He sipped his Rumchata and leaned back against Harry’s solid strong chest, feeling his arms wrap around him tight as they swayed back and forth to the melancholy tune.

Liam was called up from the biographers. He shared a snippet from his latest work about Harvey Milk. It was dreadfully boring, but still, Louis found himself rooting for old Harvey by the time Liam finished. 

The playwrights went up in a troupe of about six campers, where they proceeded to enact an original work that had something to do with a large talking bear and a band of merry hikers on the Appalachian Trail. Louis was generally confused and was pretty sure the whole thing was written while the sextet was on acid. 

Clara made her way to the stage to introduce the next performance. She shook her head forlornly as the playwrights stumbled off the stage. Louis could read her face like a book, and she seemed just as confused as he was. 

“Next, we will hear from poetry.” Louis pushed away from Harry, downing the rest of his drink in one long swallow, prepared to take the stage. 

“Harry Styles!” Clara called, much to Louis’ amazement. He stared after Harry, his Harry, as he loped up to the stage, his tight jeans showcasing the taut muscles in his legs, the lights from the stage gleaming off of the chestnut curls cascading from his wide forehead. 

Louis swallowed back his pride, he had naturally assumed he’d be called up, but he was still happy for Harry. Seeing him up there, feet pointed slightly inward, hands behind his back, full bottom lip between his teeth…it sort of stopped Louis’ heart for a moment. He was just so gorgeous. And at least, for a little while, Louis got to call him his. 

Niall and Liam appeared on either side of Louis, solid bookends to Louis’ slightly tipsy silhouette. Niall elbowed Louis as Harry cleared his throat and prepared to speak.

 

_ If I could fly _

_ I'd be coming right back home to you _

_ I think I might _

_ give up everything, just ask me to _

_ I can feel your heart inside of mine _

_ I've been going out of my mind _

_ And I hope that you don't run from me _

_ I was stumbling, looking in the dark _

_ With an empty heart _

_ But you say you feel the same _

_ Could we ever be enough? _

_ Baby we could be enough _

_ For your eyes only, I show you my heart _

_ Baby we could be enough _

 

For one terrifying moment, Louis felt his entire world turn on its axis. He forgot to breathe. He forgot to do anything but look deep inside Harry’s eyes, seeing a future he didn’t think he could have all laid out before him. 

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Harry’s voice had left an impression on each person within earshot, the plaintive request in his words an invitation, a question. He was raw and vulnerable on the stage, and the echo of his words reflected that. Suddenly, Louis couldn’t hear a thing, the thunderous applause tearing through the room like a hurricane. It was so loud, Louis felt it vibrate through his feet and under his skin. 

But Louis didn’t really register what was happening all around him, he was still so lost in Harry’s words, Harry’s voice, Harry’s eyes. Harry’s question.

Harry carefully climbed down from the stage and walked directly to Louis. He stood in front of him and searched Louis’ face for an answer. For some clue to let him know what Louis was feeling, what he heard in his honest, open words. 

“Yeah?” Louis asked, his voice small and unsure.

“Yeah,” Harry said, pulling Louis to him, cupping his jaw with soft, careful hands. He looked at Louis with something that looked an awful lot like love. Exactly the same as what was coursing through Louis’ very veins. And when Harry kissed him, Louis knew his answer. Knew it with every cell in his body. He knew, in that moment, with Harry’s arms around him, lips pressed to his, heart beating in time with his own. He knew.

That they could be enough. 

****

The sun slanted in through the wall of windows. Louis could see the dust motes dancing in a delicate waltz as he lounged on the couch. Oliver, the overweight, sullen and haughty rescue cat, curled up like a warm purring soccer ball at Louis’ feet. Every once in a while the cantankerous kitty would scratch viciously at Louis’ bare toes. Even in his sleep he was a moody little jerk, Louis thought, prodding his overhanging belly with his big toe. 

Louis felt a bit like a cat himself, the entire day lay before him, spread out like a blanket under the sun, empty and bare, nothing littering its pristine, soft surface. He felt warm and content, much like Oliver. He could hear the sound of fingers striking a keyboard across the room, “Falling Up” by Shel Silverstein was on his chest, long forgotten in lieu of basking in the sun and idly thinking about whatever popped into his mind. 

He stretched, the bones in his back popping as his hips rolled and each vertebra clicked into place. Louis felt a familiar stirring in his groin as his soft dick brushed up against his jean shorts. He knew not wearing underwear (there weren’t exactly any clean ones) might be a problem, but he wasn’t exactly upset about the whisper of desire unfurling in his belly, he was just hoping it was…mutual.

“How’s it going over there?” he called out into the dreamy sunny apartment. Six years they’ve lived here and Louis still couldn’t believe the amount of  _ sun _ that fell into his days. Most days were sun-drenched and bright; Louis never thought he’d live outside of the Midwest. But here he was, in sunny northern California, blissfully enjoying sunny day after sunny day. Sure, there was a little fog, but it made him appreciate the copious amounts of sunshine all the more. 

Scuffing footfalls sounded behind him and within seconds he was shrouded in a curtain of fragrant chestnut brown hair. Soft full lips pressed to his own, the angle a little awkward, since the kiss was upside down, but it was still  _ good _ . So, so good. Louis inhaled the familiar smell of Harry. His Harry. In seven years Harry had grown, become a man, really. They both had. But  _ Harry _ , Harry had blossomed. His face had broadened, his hair grown longer. His jawline had become more chiseled and his body, god his body, had become this  _ work of art _ . Every time Louis looked at Harry his breath caught. Every single time. It was like time stood still and Louis felt his entire body just  _ respond _ . 

“’M finished,” Harry breathed into Louis’ mouth, his breath laced with peppermint tea and caramel, Harry’s refreshments of choice when it came to writing. 

Louis’ eyes opened wide and stared deep into Harry’s and found a trace of happiness mixed with something else. Something that looked like pure bliss, smooth and unadulterated, open and bright. 

“So, so proud of you H,” Louis cooed, pulling at Harry’s shirt until Harry curled his body around and found his way on top of Louis on the wide scarlet sofa. Oliver hissed as he was dislodged from his comfy bed. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud and meowed in complaint as he slunk off to find another place to laze.

“Thanks.” Harry smiled into Louis’ chest, folding himself completely around the smaller boy underneath him. 

“Four book, Harry. Four books,” Louis wondered, his voice dripping with adoration. “Four books and a fifth now. You are so fucking talented.” 

Harry squirmed a little, preening in his boyfriend’s arms. “Thanks.” 

Louis let himself lay there for a moment, feeling gratitude in every cell of his body. Sometimes he lay awake at night, exhausted after teaching school-aged kids English all day and just…counted his every blessing. His life had taken an unexpected turn when he walked into that cabin that summer day long ago. He didn’t know it at the time, didn’t really even fully understand it when he agreed to try this  _ thing _ with Harry—try for a long distance relationship, try for  _ them _ —didn’t know that his whole life had just…changed. 

Falling into teaching wasn’t natural for Louis; he actually had to work at it, work at something for once in his life. But he was so fulfilled by it, rewarded beyond measure. He especially liked being the teacher advisor for the after-school poetry club. Helping kids find comfort and excitement in poetry and the written word had become a driving passion for Louis. It had been a difficult choice, leaving his plans for writing behind to pick up teaching, but when he did, he fully committed and threw himself into it head first.

Following Harry across the country was easy, following Harry into a life of lazy weekend mornings and careful budgets to make their meager salaries stretch, a life of tiny apartments followed by larger ones as Harry’s writing career took off. Following Harry had been the easiest choice he’d ever made. And one he never looked back on. 

This was his life Louis thought now, the idea a slow flower blooming in his mind. His life was perfect. Imperfect in many ways, sure, but perfect in the only way that really mattered. He had found love and had found Harry and it really was enough.

Harry leaned up and started kissing up Louis’ neck. Soft, hot, wet kisses that imprinted in Louis’ skin, branding him with something that felt a lot like  _ mine _ ,  _ us _ and  _ want _ . Louis shivered under Harry’s body, feeling Harry’s expert hands travel under his t-shirt, skimming over his warm skin. Harry’s hands were cool and dry and they knew exactly where to touch Louis to make him burn. 

For seven years Harry had been touching Louis like this, kissing him like  _ this _ and it…it made Louis senseless. “Please, Harry.” 

Harry smirked against Louis’ neck, his teeth dragging along the sensitive skin. “Please what, Louis?” He dragged the name out and twisted Louis’ nipple, drawing a sharp keen from the smaller boy. 

Louis grabbed Harry’s hair between strong fingers and pulled his face up so he could kiss the teasing right out of his mouth. Licking into Harry’s mouth, Louis felt Harry’s body respond, his hips starting to roll minutely, pushing their quickly fattening cocks together. “Wanna fuck you Harry.”

Harry’s hips ground down harder at that statement and he pushed himself on to his hands so he could look down at Louis. Louis was immobilized once again by just how fucking beautiful Harry was. Whenever he was like this, flushed and excited, eager but softly lazy at the same time, Louis just wanted to  _ wreck _ him. Harry must have seen the determined look in Louis’ eyes, the one he got when he was ready to just  _ control _ Harry, have him no matter what, possess him…Harry scrambled off the couch and tore his t-shirt off in one move. Throwing the shirt to the ground he walked down the hall toward their bedroom, hips swaying slightly. Louis had barely sat up and Harry was halfway down the hall.

“Don’t get started without me,” Louis half teased, because he knew Harry would probably do just that. He was impatient when it came to moments like these, getting so flustered and needy unless Louis ground him, controlled him. 

Louis palmed his growing erection through his shorts as he saw Harry turn the corner to their bedroom, the muscles spanning his broad back flexing as he held the door frame for leverage. He hurried along, knowing Harry would actually get started without him if he didn’t get there quick enough. 

When he got to their bedroom, the light was muted, softer somehow. The air was cooler and their bed was really the centerpiece of the room. Harry’s colorful tapestries and fabrics adorned the walls and floors and a jewel toned Batik bedspread covered their king sized mattress. The room still smelled of the sweet jasmine candle they sometimes burned in here, mingling with their scents. 

Harry was already on the bed. Naked.

Louis stopped in the doorway for a moment to take in the way Harry looked in this light. Shadows ran over the smooth plane of his chest and his dark happy trail traversed his groin so that the paleness of his skin looked like it glowed. Harry’s hands were roaming all over his chest and thighs but he didn’t touch his own cock—not yet. He would wait for Louis to tell him it was ok. 

Louis dropped his shorts from his hips and pulled off his own t-shirt. He walked slowly to the bed and marveled once again at how much Harry had changed in their years together. He was strong and lithe in a way that seemed to contradict the nature of a man’s body. His muscles were well defined though; years of yoga sculpting him in a way that made him seem longer than he really was. But he also had grown a layer of bulk over the sinew of his long limbs from his recent boxing hobby. Louis found him to be exquisite in every way. He never tired of looking at him. 

He realized he was gawking, Harry’s plea startling him from where his mind had gone. “Lou…please. Need you.” 

Louis walked to the bed, stopping to fish out lube from the bedside table. “Shh. Got you, baby. I’ve got you.” He ran one hand over Harry’s strong leg, landing on his hip, pressing his fingertips into the smooth alabaster skin. 

Harry wordlessly turned over, presenting himself to Louis. Louis loved the way Harry trusted him with this, trusted his body, his need with Louis. Louis kissed down Harry’s back, stopping to lick, bite and tongue at random places, loving the sounds that he pulled from Harry. He bit at the meatiest part of Harry’s ass, making the boy under him arch his back in pleasure. “Mmmhhhh…. _ Louis _ .” Harry’s head dropped to the pillow below him so that his legs opened more and his hole canted upward, making Louis’ reach easier. 

Louis knew Harry had showered earlier, after they’d shared a plate of pancakes and a pot of coffee, before he sat down to write, so he thought he’d take advantage. Leaning down, without warning, Louis licked over Harry’s opening roughly. Harry moaned, the sound of it jagged and harsh in the quiet room. Louis smirked against Harry’s sensitive skin and did it again. And again, and again. Harry loved getting rimmed. He especially loved it when Louis didn’t shave, like he hadn’t today. He also loved it right before getting fucked hard and fast, which was exactly what Louis intended.

Years ago, after Harry had graduated, the two of them had gone on a trip to Greece, pooling their savings and taking Harry’s graduation gift from his mother to treat themselves to an extravagant vacation. During that trip, after lazy days at the beach and far too much ouzo, the two of them began to discover each other fully. 

On top of cool cotton sheets they uncovered each other’s likes and dislikes, exploring their urges as adults, not just campers fumbling in dark cabins or under the cover of wooded paths. It was there, in Greece, that Louis discovered the art of rimming. He had rimmed Harry before, knew Harry liked it, he liked having it done to himself. But in Greece he was cast under some kind of rimming spell.

He became an artist, painting with his tongue, using Harry’s sighs and wanton moans as his medium. And it was really an art form. Louis was a master. Harry told him as much. Every time. So, Louis practiced a lot, as was customary for any artist trying to refine his craft. 

Louis tightened the movement of his tongue, pointing it and circling Harry’s tight hole in small deliberate swirls of pleasure inducing movement. Harry arched his back deeper and thrust back onto Louis’ face without any embarrassment whatsoever. During times like these, Harry lost all ability to speak. He babbled incoherently and mumbled wetly into his forearm. Louis was encouraged so he delved inside Harry’s pliant body. 

“F…fuck…oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Harry groaned, his deep voice hurtling inside Louis’ body, making his own now aching cock dribble between his legs. “Louis.  _ Fuck _ . Fuckmefuckmefuckme.” Harry’s voice was manic with want.

Louis held Harry’s ass open and smashed his face deeper into Harry’s crack. He kept his tongue inside Harry and rotated it as much as he could in the small space. He could taste Harry, musky and dark, forever reminding him of the Aegean Sea and whitewashed walls that held the deepest memory of their burgeoning love. Louis slurped at Harry’s rim, the wet sounds vibrating between Louis mouth and Harry’s fevered skin. Harry moaned again, wanton and desperate—lost in the sensation of Louis’ mouth against his waiting hole. 

Louis pulled his tongue out and licked again around Harry’s slightly stretched rim. It wasn’t stretched enough, though, their cocks having been one of the many things that had grown over the years in addition to their bodies. Keeping his face pressed firmly between Harry’s ass cheeks, tongue still roaming, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, Louis dribbled lube from their half empty bottle to the three fingers of his right hand. Harry started moaning faster, deeper now, knowing what Louis was doing behind him driving him mad with arousal. He wriggled his ass in anticipation.

Louis sat up a bit, licking up Harry’s crack and replacing his tongue with wet fingers. He pushed his middle finger in firmly, making Harry buck forward and back quickly. “Fuck!” he shouted, his neck snapping up, body tensing. Louis knew his boy, knew him so well now, knew he was close and that he’d come from getting rimmed and then fingered in quick succession. 

“Harry, good, good boy…” Louis cooed, amazed at how rough his own voice sounded. “Don’t come yet, ok? My good, good boy.” 

Harry groaned and nodded his head, dropping forward again. Louis smiled against the firm muscle of Harry’s ass, rolling his finger in and out, in and out and then in little pulsing circles against Harry’s prostate, easily found after years of practice. Harry’s body just pulled him in. Hot and velvety smooth, Harry’s hole was made for Louis’ mouth, Louis’ fingers, Louis’ cock. Louis felt precome drip from his dick to the bedspread below. Harry would be annoyed about having to wash it later (it had to be hand washed) but it was all for show, he secretly loved it when they made a mess; made a mess of each other. 

Louis quickly added a second finger and then a third, the fit so very tight and cramped but Harry was out of his ever-loving mind with lust, so it was worth it. Harry’s long, lean body was writhing above him and he was in a constant state of tortured sounding arousal. “Please Louis. Please. Please,” Harry panted. “ _ Please _ .”

Louis was beside himself with the need to get inside Harry. He pulled his fingers out slowly, wiping them on the bed below (oops—they had to wash it anyway), as he poured lube over his rigid cock. He hissed as he gave himself two quick rough pulls to spread the lube around, the feeling of release like pinpricks against his skin, thrumming inside his cock, pulling and tightening in his belly. 

The first push inside Harry was always heavenly. It transported Louis to another place, another time, another fucking plane of existence. But today, for some reason, today with all of the memories and the sentimentality floating around in Louis’ head, today was even more ethereal. Louis bottomed out in one slow, firm push, driving Harry back down to the bed, on to his arms. Louis’s whole body reacted, the slight convulsing completely involuntary, from a deep primal place where Louis’ body knew Harry’s and wanted to just  _ fuck _ . 

Within seconds Louis was driving into Harry at a hard fluid pace. Harry lay on his face and grunted with every hard drive in, moaning with every pull out. Harry was stretched open and wet enough that Louis could pull out and slam back in every time, making Louis’ eyes cross with how good it felt. It was always good with Harry, always so fucking good, but when they fucked like this, animalistic, hurriedly, just seeking white hot pleasure…these were the times when Louis felt like he’d really hit the jackpot. 

That and Harry was the love of his life.

Semantics, really.

Harry whined as he just took what Louis gave him, took it and absorbed it, felt the way Louis’s body claimed his,  _ claimed _ it. “Lou… _ please _ . Can I come?  _ Please _ ?”

Louis shoved his sweaty hair off of his face and felt his orgasm coming fast. “J…just gimme a…” With one final thrust, Louis stilled and pumped inside Harry’s hot accommodating body. He shot load after load of come inside his boyfriend, the man he loved and worshipped and was forever grateful for.

Harry keened, high and hoarse, the sound almost pained, as he released on to the blanket below them. Untouched. Fucking miracle, that boy was. 

Louis ground his hips against Harry’s ass lazily for a few more moments as they both rode out the remnants of their shared orgasms. He ran his hands down Harry’s sweaty back and gripped his hips loosely as he felt his own come start to leak out around his softening cock. With a heavy sigh, Louis pulled out and flopped down on the bed.

Harry yanked the wet bedspread out from underneath himself, kicking it to the bottom of the bed, not fully because half was stuck under Louis, but enough so that he could lie on the cool dry sheet below. They lay side by side for a minute, catching their breath, fingers tangled loosely at their hips. Finally, Harry turned toward Louis and ran his fingers over Louis’ chest and stomach, drawing nonsensical shapes and designs on his cooling damp skin. 

“That was…” Harry began, still looking completely debauched and ravaged. 

Louis turned to face him and smiled. “I know,” he agreed.

“Did you think of Greece?” Harry asked quietly, laying his head down so that they could stare into each other’s eyes.

“Always think of Greece when my tongue is buried in your ass,” Louis said crudely, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry smiled, a wide goofy grin that made Louis’ insides churn with devotion. It was quiet for a few minutes, both men lost in their own thoughts. Louis broke the silence. “Are we all squared away then for next week?”

Harry ran his fingertips along Louis’ outer arm. Louis shivered. “Yup. Got the tickets yesterday. Told Clara we’d get there Wednesday night. 

“You told her we’re renting a car?”

“Yeah. ’S hard for her to drive anymore. Told her not to worry about it.” Harry smiled fondly, thinking about their mentor.

“Can’t wait,” Louis mused, thinking about where it all began. When they first agreed to help Clara run Camp Darwin as employees they’d been thrilled, but now as part owners it was all just a full circle kind of feeling. 

“Me too. Will be fun to see all the first years. They’re always so nervous.” Harry bit his lip, hiding his smile. They both liked the first years most. All that excitement and raw talent. All of it waiting for them to help shape it, mold it, grow it…

Louis sighed, happiness settling in his chest like a cup of warm cocoa. “Glad Nialler could at least make it this year.” 

“Yeah…shame about Liam.” Harry wriggled a little, crinkling his nose. Louis knew that the come leaking out between his cheeks was probably getting uncomfortable. Liam had taken an assignment for National Geographic that had him traveling to Kenya, or some other far place across the globe, Louis could never remember, Liam was always off reporting, researching, writing…somewhere. 

“Shower, baby?” Louis asked.

Harry smiled, his eyes blinking closed slowly. “Love when you call me baby.”

Louis pushed at Harry’s shoulder, almost rolling him out of the bed completely. Harry caught himself and stood up, his legs noticeably shaky. Louis crawled out after him, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s waist to steady him. He could feel Harry’s warmth spread over his skin and felt the hum of stated comfort and the excitement over their impending trip settle over them as they made their way to their double shower. It was a good life. It was enough. More than.

“I know you do baby, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! Please leave a note and let me know what you think. I read every single comment and love hearing from people who take the time to read my work. Thanks!


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